


Number Not The Voices

by MomentsOfWeakness



Series: The Blaine Hummel 'Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: (VERY pre-slash), (just...be patient), Abuse of Power, Angst, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Papa Bear Burt, Pre-Slash, a complete lack of knowledge of the judicial system, date rape drugs, drugging of a minor, mentions of a consensual relationship between a minor and an adult, mentions of recreational drug use, sexual abuse of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MomentsOfWeakness/pseuds/MomentsOfWeakness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine gets into a bad situation the only person he can turn to is Kurt. But Burt is the one that answers Kurt's phone, and he suddenly finds himself wondering just how far he will go to protect his son's best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally from a prompt off the Glee Angst Meme. It was canon when it started, but that was back before Christmas of season two. Goes totally AU after that. Sorry. Please heed the 'non-con/rape' warning (though nothing graphic is shown), and keep in mind that (at the time this was written) Blaine was a junior in highschool, which would make him 17 at the time these events transpire.

**Chapter One**

Burt Hummel was a simple kind of guy; he had never had dreams of traveling the world, had never wanted to win a Nobel Prize or find his name in the Guinness book. He had the garage and he had his family. As long as those two things were running smoothly he was happy.

Things had gotten a little complicated lately. First with his health problems, then having his family double in size in one day. It was good though. Well, not the whole heart attack thing, but definitely the growing family.

When Lizzy had died he thought he would never be truly happy again. He and Kurt had done the best they could, but Burt knew that things weren't the way they should be. Kurt had taken over the role of 'mother' far too often simply because it was easier, and Burt had struggled with having a son that he just didn't understand.

When Carole and Finn had come along it was like everything had finally settled after eight years. It wasn't the same, never could be, but it was good. At least, for a little while.

Burt missed his son. They had just barely been a family before Kurt had transferred to Dalton, and his absence felt like a hole had been opened up in the side of the house. Like something vital had been torn away. It had just been the two of them for so long. Now one or two or three weeks would pass with little more than a few harried minutes a night on the phone to make sure the other was still breathing, and Burt found himself being resentful.

He was resentful of Dalton, for being so far away; of McKinley for not doing enough to protect his son. He resented the school board and Paul Karofsky, Mr. Schue and the crazy Cheerios coach. But mostly, and this is the part he felt most guilty about, he resented Blaine. 

He resented him for stealing all of his son's attention long before Kurt had transferred. For convincing him, even if it was unintentionally, that moving all the way to Dalton was the only way he could be safe. And Burt resented him for every single phone call he got on Friday afternoons that started with 'I can't come home, Dad, because Blaine...'.

Burt knew how ridiculous that was, to be jealous of a seventeen year old boy. Especially since that same seventeen year old boy had been the only person in Kurt's life this last year that had been able to truly help him; to make him smile again. 

But he couldn't help it, he missed his son.

Burt puttered around the living room, cleaning up the mess Finn had left that morning and trying to to remember where Carole kept the vacuum. It was Sunday morning and he was alone in the house; Kurt was actually home this weekend, but Mercedes, Tina, and Quinn had stolen him for a 'girls day' that afternoon. Burt had protested at first: Kurt hadn't been home since Christmas break, but when his son had pouted and exclaimed that all the boys at Dalton were such 'boys!' and that he really needed some girl time Burt had relented and let him go. 

And Carole and Finn were out looking for a new suit for the upcoming dance. Finn had actually asked his brother first, but Kurt had declared that he was not going all the way to the outlet mall just to have Finn buy the first suit he tried on because he was bored. So Carole had grabbed her purse, proclaimed this the perfect opportunity for a mother son outing, kissed Burt soundly (garnering a disgusted look from the boys and a chorus of 'awws' from the girls) and hustled the whole troupe out the door.

So Burt had been left alone since early that morning, and, since football season was officially over and basketball hadn't started yet, he found himself with nothing to do. He figured Carole and Kurt would both be stunned if he did some actual housework, so he had settled to the task and was trying to remember where everything was.

As he put Finn's cereal bowl in the sink with the rest of the breakfast dishes he heard the distinctive sound of Kurt's phone buzzing on the table. He had taken it away from Kurt last night when Kurt had spent all of dinner texting Blaine instead of answering Carole's questions about school. Kurt had claimed that leaving it behind when he left with the girls was like leaving behind an arm. 

The sound of 'Teenage Dream' had rung through the silent house four times in the last half hour, the song abruptly cutting off again after Burt continued to ignore it. Blaine got Kurt every day and on most weekends, he could go without him for a few days. (Burt felt slightly guilty and petty for thinking that way, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.)

The phone started ringing again just as Burt was dipping his hands into the hot, soapy dish water and he didn't resist the urge to roll his eyes. They had only known each other for four months, but any time spent apart seemed to send them both into withdrawals. Burt was starting to worry that Kurt was becoming too dependent on Blaine, and apparently the other boy was fairing no better. 

'Just friends, my ass.' Burt thought as he dried his hands off and reached for the phone to turn it off. The only people who actually believed that was them.

When he heard the soft, tinny 'Kurt?' come from the speaker instead of the powering down sound he wasn't surprised. He understood the damn thing about as well as he understood Kurt's moisturizing routine.

He sighed and put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Blaine. This is Burt.”

There was a pause, and then a soft “Oh.” Burt heard the boy on the other end clear his throat, then he made a few stuttering starts that were probably supposed to be words before finally asking “I-is Kurt there? Is...I-I need...Can I talk to him. Please.” The politeness was mostly an afterthought; an automatic response.

Burt was about to tell Blaine that Kurt wouldn't be back until later that night, but something about the tone of his voice, the quiet stutters, made him change his mind.

“Blaine, are you alright?” He asked instead. Burt didn't claim to be very good at reading people, he tended to take most things at face value, but he had spent enough time around Blaine (the kid had spent practically the whole of winter break sleeping on their couch because he and Kurt would stay up late every night watching movie marathons until it was 'too late to drive home') to know that he was about as confidant as kids come in high school. Right now he sounded timid; almost...scared.

Blaine cleared his throat again. “I'm fine. I just...” Another pause; a moment to collect his thoughts. “I don't know where I am.”

Burt's mind stuttered to a halt. The fear in that one simple sentence was unmistakable, and the broken hitch at the end was enough to make all of Burt's fatherly instincts stand at attention.

“Blaine?”

The boy had gone silent. All Burt could hear was the occasional stutter in his breath, then, softly, “Can you come get me?”

***

Burt had to talk Blaine through the process of finding out where he was. He eventually figured out that he was in a motel (and that alone set off glaring alarms in Burt's brain) and then had found the address on a note pad in the bedside drawer.

The fact that he hadn't been able to figure that out on his own worried Burt more than the frightened tone of his voice. Blaine had spent several days over Christmas break lamenting the 'B' he had received in french class because it had dropped his grade point from a 4.0 to a 3.8. The kid was smart, but he wasn't thinking right now and that was worrying.

The motel was three hours from Dalton which is where, according to Kurt, Blaine should have been staying over the weekend, and it was an hour from Lima in the opposite direction of the school. Burt made it there in thirty-two minutes.

He parked haphazardly in the spot in front of the room Blaine was in and tried to contain the fluttering in his stomach as he ran to the door. Blaine was alive, he knew that much; whatever else was wrong, well they would just take it from there. 

He had barely knocked once before the door opened under his hand, revealing a well put-together Blaine. At least at first glance he looked just fine. His Dalton uniform was perfectly situated, if not a little wrinkled, and his mop of curly hair was shining wet and slicked back as well as possible.

But his back was just a little too stiff and his skin was deathly pale. His eyes, usually so bright and cheerful when he was with Kurt, were glassy and the deep shadows beneath them gave him a bruised look.

“Thank you for coming,” he said with the ghost of a smile, perfect etiquette wrapping around him like a shield. “I'm sorry to make you come all the way out here.”

Burt eyed him warily, trying to see past the Dalton Academy facade. “It's fine,” he said. “You gonna tell me what's going on?”

Blaine stepped fully out of the room and closed the door behind him, casting one last glance inside at the single, rumpled bed. “I...came here last night with...with a friend. We went to a french film festival at the playhouse yesterday and we...came here, after.” His hands waved around in a perfectly controlled manner to indicate the cheap motel. “When I woke up this morning he was gone. I over reacted. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah,” Burt said carefully, wondering if the kid knew how bad of a liar he really was. “It's no problem. Let's get out of here.”

Burt reached out a hand to steer Blaine toward the truck, but Blaine skirted passed his touch carefully and walked over to the passenger door on his own. Burt sighed heavily and followed him. Something was definitely wrong, but he knew he wasn't going to get Blaine to talk about it here.

They were halfway back to Lima, driving the speed limit now that Blaine was safe, when Burt started in with the questions. “So where are your parents, Blaine?” He asked, glancing over at the boy briefly. He looked exhausted and pale; he hadn't said a word since they left the motel. “Blaine?”

Blaine's head jerked around from where he had been staring out the window and a faint blush brought color to his sallow skin. “I...they're out of the country. On a business trip. My dad travels a lot for work and my mom likes to go with him. Or she visits friends in New York or...”

He turned back to the window. “They're not around much. But that's okay because I spend so much time at school anyway.”

It was an automatic response. One of those things you say with the hope that if you hear it enough it'll be true.

“Where are they now?” Burt asked, as casually as he could, but inside he was seething. Their son was in trouble and the only person he could rely on was a seventeen year old boy because they couldn't be bothered to stick around. What kind of parents do that to their kid?

“London. No, Japan. They're in Japan. Or...my mom went to France? I don't remember.”

It was obvious that the kid didn't want to be answering these questions, but he did anyway because to ignore Burt would be rude. Burt felt somewhat guilty about taking advantage of his perfect manners, but he had to get Blaine talking if he was going to figure out what to do next.

“When was the last time you saw them?”

The flinch was unmistakable; the answer predictably a lie. “Umm...Christmas.”

Blaine had left their home, reluctantly, Christmas Eve morning to drive back to his family's home in Eatondale. The day after Christmas Kurt had met him for coffee in the morning and that night Blaine had been back to sleeping on their couch.

“Blaine, who did you spend Christmas with?”

Burt's question was met with silence. It went on for a few minutes, Blaine staring resolutely out the window the whole time. For a minute Burt thought he wasn't going to answer, and he decided not to press him, he couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him. Then Blaine said, almost too quietly to hear, “Gregory. Our butler. He's from England but he doesn't have family there anymore, so he stayed here this year.”

Burt was about to respond in outrage, they had left him with the _butler_?, when Blaine came quickly to their defense. “They were supposed to be there, but my dad couldn't leave work and my mom didn't want to travel alone. They...they're really busy.”

He knew damn well that Blaine didn't even believe that. “When was the last time you saw them?” Burt asked gently, trying desperately to keep the anger and judgment out of his words. They were still the boy's parents.

Blaine flinched again. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap and he had started to bite at his bottom lip. “October. Right before I met Kurt. They came home for my birthday.”

Well. That was something. But it didn't change everything else. Burt couldn't wrap his head around the idea of not seeing his son for three and a half months. He hated that Kurt was two hours away by car, let alone on the other side of the world.

He decided to change the subject, but he had a feeling the new one wasn't going to go over any better. “This boy you were with last night,” he said, trying to sound casual. “He not out of the closet yet? Is that why he left you there?”

Blaine's face instantly lost what little color he had when Burt mentioned last night. “I don't...I don't know,” he stuttered.

“Does he go to school with you?” he prompted after another minute of silence.

“I...yeah. Yes. Yes, he's there.” It was painful, listening to him search for the answers, trying to find the one he could let himself say.

“The school know you two left yesterday? You gotta get permission to leave on the weekends, right?”

“They...I don't...” Blaine suddenly started pulling in short, sharp breaths. His mouth worked for a moment without making a sound and then one hand reached out for the door handle. “Pull over,” he hissed in a trembling voice.

“What?”

“Pull over. Please pull over.”

Burt jerked the truck over to the side of the road, and before he had even come to a complete stop Blaine had shoved the door open and was leaning over the side, emptying his stomach onto the ground.

Burt sighed and unbuckled his seat belt, then slid across the seat to place a comforting hand on the kid's back. When the heaving finally stopped he pulled back to give Blaine some space and quickly searched the cab for something to give him to rinse out his mouth. What he saw instead made his own stomach turn and all the anger and fear he had been feeling all morning come boiling to the surface.

“Blaine.” It came out as an angry growl that Burt immediately regretted when Blaine turned wide, tear filled eyes back to him. Then Blaine looked down to the place where Burt's eyes were still locked and saw the bright red stain on the gray material where he had been sitting.

He let out a soft, broken whimper, then leaned back out of the truck to throw up the acid in his stomach.

***

Burt sighed and paced restlessly outside the door of the ER. Blaine was situated two stories up in a private exam room, and Burt was desperately trying to get a hold of his son. They had been here for half an hour; Blaine hadn't even tried to protest when Burt had turned the car around and headed toward Good Samaritan hospital. Maybe the look on Burt's face had told him there was no room for argument, but now that they were here he refused to let anyone near him, swearing that he was fine and that he didn't need help. Burt was hoping Kurt could come talk some sense into him. He didn't know what else to do.

He was dialing Mercedes' number for the fourth time, swearing under his breath and trying to get the image of Blaine's blood stained pants out of his mind. On the third ring Mercedes' cheerful voice finally answered.

“Sorry, Mr. Hummel. My phone was at the bottom of my bag and I couldn't hear it. What can I do for you?”

“Put Kurt on the phone, Mercedes,” he growled. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he had come to the end of his rope here.

“Oh, okay. Here.” Burt heard a hurriedly whispered conversation, then Kurt was on the line.

“Dad, what is it? What's wrong?”

He sounded so scared already, that underlying tone of apprehension that had colored his voice ever since Burt's heart attack, and Burt hesitated. He didn't want this kind of ugly to touch his son's life. High school bullying was one thing, but for him to know, to truly _know_ , that there were people out there capable of doing something like this...it would destroy the last of his innocence.

How do you tell your child that their best friend has been raped?

But then he thought of Blaine, the boy who had pulled Kurt out of his funk and taught him how to smile again, who was so strong and courageous, but still just barely seventeen. He thought of the way Blaine had sobbed into his shoulder once the dry heaving had stopped, and how he didn't have anyone else but Kurt to call when something so awful had happened.

Burt knew they would all be changed before this was over. He couldn't protect Kurt anymore.

“Kurt, you need to come to the hospital,” he finally said. 

“Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay? What's going on?”

“It's not- Kurt. Kurt, stop! It's not me!”

When he finally got Kurt's attention he heard his son let out a sigh of relief and felt guilty about what he had to say next. He wished it was something as simple as a heart attack.

“It's not me, Kurt. It's Blaine.” This prompted a whole new string of questions that he didn't even try to stop. Through them all he heard Kurt shout something to Mercedes and the sound of a door slamming shut. When he heard the roar of the engine he almost wanted to scold Kurt for driving and talking on the phone but he didn't have the heart.

He refused to tell Kurt what had happened, that wasn't something he needed to hear over the phone, and gave him instructions on how to find Blaine's room once he got to the hospital. When Kurt finally let him hang up he stuck his phone into his pocket and walked back into the ER with a heavy sigh.

The nurse behind the help desk gave him a nasty look as he walked by. Apparently when you walk into an ER and demand a private room and for the police to be called people get a little suspicious. When you say it's because you have a seventeen year old boy with you who you're pretty sure has been raped they get _really_ suspicious.

When the police had arrived it had taken a lot of shouting, and a slight panic attack on Blaine's part when they had tried to separate him from Burt, for the police to be convinced that Burt had nothing to do with what had happened. But after that Blaine had clammed up, refusing to speak to anyone and hyperventilating any time someone other than Burt got near him.

The doctors and police officers were starting to get obviously frustrated, and Burt was running out of ideas.

“Mr. Hummel?” The officer that had introduced himself as Detective Choi approached him from where he was pacing outside Blaine's room. “We've tried to contact Blaine's parents but we can't seem to get a hold of them, and his only other emergency contact is his school. Do you know any other family we could call to come be with him?”

Burt thought briefly of the butler, the one Blaine had spent Christmas with, but quickly shook his head. All he had was Kurt, and he was already on his way.

The detective sighed in frustration, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. It had been a long half hour. “Alright. I'm just...I'll be back.”

Burt watched him leave, holding back his own frustrated sigh. He was in over his head here and he was running out of steam fast. It had barely been two hours since Blaine has asked him to come get him at the motel, but it felt like a lifetime has passed.

Burt turned towards the door of Blaine's room and steeled himself before going back inside. Blaine hadn't moved since before Burt had gone downstairs to use the phone. He was lying on the bed, is back to the far wall, arms crossed protectively around his stomach with his knees pulled up to his chest. Dark, shadowed eyes stared blankly at the doorway.

He was still dressed in his uniform, the hospital gown the doctors had begged him to change into still sitting untouched on the end of the bed, and he had Burt's flannel shirt wrapped tightly around his waist.

When they had pulled up to the hospital Blaine had obediently slid out of the truck to go inside, but then immediately baulked when he saw the amount of blood that had stained the seat. The idea of walking passed all the people in the ER lobby in that state had nearly sent him into a panic attack. So Burt had taken off his outer shirt, the soft blue one that Carole has bought him just last week, and handed it to the boy. He had looked so lost when he had wrapped it around himself, tying it tightly like a force field that could keep inquisitive stares away.

Burt walked over to the bed, taking in the way the harsh overhead lights made Blaine look even paler, the dark circles under his eyes look deeper and more bruise-like. He placed one careful hand on Blaine's ankle, and was just about to say something, anything to get Blaine's attention, when he heard a frantic 'Dad!' coming from far off down the hallway outside.

Burt slipped out into the hall just in time to see Kurt nearly collide with the detective as they both turned towards him. He didn't even want to think about how fast his son had to have driven to get here so quickly.

Kurt raced towards him, completely ignoring all the people milling around in the hallway. He looked pale and on the verge of a serious meltdown. “Where is he? Is he okay? Dad, what's going on?”

“Kurt,” Burt said over Kurt's frantic questions, his voice stern to get his son's attention. “He needs you to be calm right now.”

Kurt stopped and took a deep breath, suddenly transforming from a frightened teenager into the strong young man he had become over the last year. “Where is he?” he asked again quietly; desperately.

Burt steered him towards Blaine's room, then stood back as he marched purposefully inside. Burt watched from the doorway as he sat down carefully on the bed next to Blaine.

“Blaine? Honey?” Kurt reached out slowly and placed one gentle hand on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine didn't flinch at Kurt's touch like Burt expected him to. Instead his eyes came into focus for the first time in half an hour and he turned to look at the other boy. His body moved slowly, as if he was searching his way through a deep fog.

When their eyes met Blaine sat up and threw himself at Kurt's slim body, arms wrapping around his neck in a stranglehold. Kurt caught him with a tiny 'oomph' and pulled him in tight, holding him closely as he started to cry.

“It's alright,” Burt heard his son whisper as he quietly left the room. “Everything's going to be okay.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. I meant to post the whole dang thing yesterday. My bad. Here's the rest. Hopefully. I don't know how to work this site yet.

**Chapter Two**

Kurt came out of the room half an hour later looking like he had just survived a war. He was pale and tired, and he leaned into Burt's shoulder gratefully when he wrapped his arm around him.

“He won't tell me anything,” Kurt said quietly, a new kind of sorrow in his voice.

Detective Choi sighed and dropped heavily into the hard plastic chairs on the wall opposite Blaine's room. Burt tried to steer Kurt over to do the same, but he just clung tighter and Burt let him. He couldn't push him away right now.

“He didn't say _anything_?” Choi asked desperately.

Kurt shook his head slowly. “All he said was 'he hurt me', which is painfully obvious and a gross understatement. He wouldn't say who 'he' was though and he refused to let me get the doctor. I think...I think he's still bleeding. Dad...I don't...how could...”

He let out a pained little noise and Burt pulled him in tightly, wrapping him up in a hug. He threaded one hand through his son's hair, half wishing he would protest like he would any other day. But Kurt just held on tightly to the back of Burt's shirt like he was a life preserver in a stormy sea. 

“It's not fair, Dad,” Kurt whispered against Burt's shoulder. His voice was tight, pained, and Burt could feel hot tears soaking through his shirt. “He shouldn't have to go through this. It's not...it's not fair.”

Burt had no words of wisdom to offer him. It was never fair.

After a minute Kurt sniffed delicately and pulled away from Burt's shoulder. He wiped the tears from his face and took a deep breath. “Where was he? When you went to go get him. Where was he?”

“Oakley.”

“Oakley? That's, like, three hours from Dalton. What was he doing there?”

“I don't know. He said something about a french movie or something.” Burt wondered why it was so important where Blaine had been.

Kurt's eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled down into a tight frown. “The film festival at the Oakley theater? I asked him if he wanted to go and he said he had other plans. If he was going with someone else why wouldn't he just...”

Kurt's words trailed off slowly and his already pale skin turned ghostly.

“Kurt, what?” Burt asked, squeezing his son's shoulder. Kurt shook his head slowly, the look on his face one of horror. Burt called his name again, trying to get his attention, but before he could get an answer out of him Kurt turned and ran back into Blaine's room so quickly he left the door swinging behind him.

By the time Burt and the detective caught up with him Kurt had Blaine by the shoulders and was shaking him gently. “Professor Grant?” Kurt asked the shocked boy, his voice trembling in anger. “Did Grant do this to you? Is that who you were with yesterday?”

“Wait, your French teacher?” Burt asked, suddenly seeing red. Kurt had talked about this Grant guy a lot, telling Burt and Carole the funny and exciting stories about his trips to Europe that he had told the class. He was one of Kurt's favorite teachers at Dalton.

“Blaine,” Detective Choi said softly, moving toward the bed slowly as if Blaine were a frightened animal ready to spook. “Is Kurt right? Did one of your teachers do this to you?”

Blaine looked terrified and sick. He shook his head slowly, eyes darting between the three other people in the room as if searching for an answer, for a way to deny what Kurt had said. But the look in his wide, panicked eyes told them everything.

He hesitated for a moment, but then he looked up into Kurt's grief stricken face and his resolve suddenly crumbled. He gave a barely perceptible nod of his head and buried his face in his trembling hands.

The detective was immediately on the his phone and walking out of the room, shouting orders as he went. Blaine let out a stifled sob and looked up from his hands, turning towards Kurt with a desperate look on his face.

“He said he would raise my grade,” he said, voice choked and broken. “He said if I went with him and could answer some questions about the movies when it was over he would raise my grade to an 'A'. I-I didn't know h-he would...I didn't know. I didn't...”

Burt watched helplessly as Kurt leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders, tucking the other boy's head under his chin. Blaine didn't break down this time, too tired to do anything more than cling to Kurt and let the silent tears drip down onto Kurt's chest.

Burt let them have a moment, but then he moved into Blaine's line of sight, leaning down to catch his attention. “Blaine, you need to let the doctor look at you.”

Blaine closed his eyes and immediately pulled out of Kurt's embrace, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield.

“Blaine-”

“I know. I...I know.” His words were pained, and two more tears slid down the pale tracks on his cheeks. “You can...I know.”

Burt sighed heavily and slipped out of the room, going in search of the doctor that had been hovering around all morning.

“Hi, Blaine,” the doctor said once they returned to the room, stepping inside but staying a comfortable distance away from the boy hunched over himself on the bed. She was taller than average for a woman, and a little on the plump side. She had half-moon, wire-rimmed glasses, and her graying brown hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun. Her eyes were soft and compassionate, but not pitying. Blaine glanced up for a moment at her greeting, but quickly turned his eyes back to the floor.

“My name is Doctor Montgomery,” she said, still standing in the doorway. “I'd like to check you over and make sure you're alright, and with your permission I'd like to take some samples for the police. But if you'd be more comfortable with a male doctor I would understand.”

Blaine shrugged noncommittally, but didn't look up from the floor again.

“Alright,” she said, taking Blaine's reaction as an assent to continue. She walked the rest of the way into the room and placed a small, white box onto the table beside the bed. It had the letters 'SAE' on the side.

Burt watched as the doctor carefully pulled on a pair of gloves, and then slid a chair over to the side of the bed. Blaine sighed softly, his shoulders dropping as if all the fight had gone out of him, and he looked up at Kurt guilty.

Kurt ran a hand through the other boy's disheveled curls and nodded silently to whatever he had seen in Blaine's face. Burt wasn't really surprised when Kurt turned toward him and ushered him out the door, but he was surprised when Kurt went with him.

Burt cast one last reluctant glance into the room as the door shut behind the two of them, leaving Blaine alone with the doctor as he started to remove his clothes. If it had been Kurt in there nothing short of an act of God would have been able to make him leave. But Blaine wasn't his son, and he had asked them to go.

As the door swung closed Burt was left with a feeling of helplessness. He didn't like that feeling one bit.

***

When the doctor finally walked out of the room she offered a sympathetic smile to them. “He's going to be fine. I had to use sutures to stop the bleeding, but as long as he stays away from strenuous activity for a while it'll heal nicely. I'm going to get this to the police.” She held up the box holding the samples she had taken from Blaine, a paper bag clutched in the same hand. Burt assumed that Blaine's clothes were inside.

“And the blood samples to the lab for testing. I'm also going to go down to the pharmacy, on the first floor, and get a few prescriptions filled. A pain medication, and an antibacterial ointment for his wounds. You can pick them up before you leave. I told Blaine what to do with them, so he's good to go. As soon as the police are done with him you can take him home.”

Burt saw Kurt nod quickly, practically dancing on his toes in impatience. The wait had felt like years. “Can I...” He waved at the door, already taking a step toward the room.

The doctor smiled and nodded and he was disappearing inside within moments. Burt took a minute to shake the doctor's hand and thank her before following his son.

Inside the room everything looked the same, except for the loss of Blaine's uniform. In its place he wore a pair of light green hospital scrubs that looked about two sizes too big.

Kurt was sitting on the bed beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blaine, for his part, looked numb, as if his body had finally gotten passed the exhaustion and pain and simply stopped functioning.

Burt also couldn't help but notice the bruises. Where they had been hidden before by the long sleeves and high collar of his uniform, now they seemed to have been put on display. Dark purple and black ringed both wrists, and a smattering of smaller bruises could be clearly seen above the low 'v'-neck of his shirt.

Some of them looked like the ones on his wrists, like pressure had been applied (a hand at the base of his neck to hold him down, Burt's mind supplied to his horror), but some looked far too much like the after-effects of a make-out session. The bastard had left his mark on Blaine, plain and simple.

Before Burt could speak the door was swinging back open, causing all of them to jump. Detective Choi looked apologetic after taking in their startled faces, but he beamed happily at Blaine.

“They're arresting him now,” he said firmly, as if that put an end to all of their troubles. “Alright, Blaine? Everything's going to be alright.”

Blaine nodded solemnly, attempting a smile of his own, but it was nothing more than a pained, tight line of his mouth. Kurt pulled him in tighter, his hand squeezing Blaine's shoulder encouragingly and Blaine leaned in closer to him.

Choi pulled over the same chair that the doctor had used, and sat down facing Blaine. He took a notepad out of his front pocket, opening it up to the first page, then nodded expectantly at Blaine.

“Blaine, do you care if the Hummel's are here while you talk to me, or would you prefer to be alone?”

Burt wanted to protest the idea of being kicked out again, and he could see that Kurt did as well, but Blaine just shook his head and turned his eyes back to the floor. “They can stay,” he said quietly.

“Alright, Blaine. Just...start from the beginning and tell me everything you can remember, okay?”

Burt could tell that the detective was relieved to finally be able to talk to Blaine, but his relief was quickly outlived when they all heard Blaine's guiltily whispered, “I don't remember anything.”

“You...what?”

Blaine glanced up at the detective, his face a mask of shame. “I remember going to the movies with him. I remember feeling sick during the last one, and that he had to help me to the car. Then nothing until I woke up in the motel room. I-I was alone and...everything _hurt_ and...and there was blood on the bed. That's it. That's all I remember.”

The detective's face went pale, frustration flashing across his eyes. “But you _said_ it was Grant.”

Blaine recoiled slightly under his suddenly harsh tone, looking confused and lost. “Wh-who else could it have been?”

The detective must have heard the same fear in Blaine's voice that Burt did, that sudden terrible thought that maybe he had screwed up, because the accusation left his face, replaced with a fierce determination.

“Of course. Of course, Blaine, you're right,” he said by way of apology. “Did he maybe give you anything to eat or drink while you were with him?”

Blaine nodded slowly. “He got me a soda before the last movie started. He had one too.”

“I'll have them test your blood,” he said, shoving the notebook back into his pocket as he stood up to leave. “But I'd bet my pension they'll find Rohypnol, or some other drug. We'll figure this out, Blaine, don't worry.”

He turned to leave, but before he opened the door he turned back towards the two boys on the bed. “How did you know?”

The boys looked startled, and it took Burt a moment to realize that he wasn't addressing Blaine.

“Know what?” Kurt asked, his hand unconsciously squeezing Blaine's shoulder. Blaine looked at his friend in confusion, his back suddenly painfully stiff under Kurt's arm.

“How did you know it was Grant?” Choi clarified, the tone of his voice suddenly going a little dark, a little on edge. “All your father said was that Blaine was at the film festival, so how did you know?”

Burt's heart sank and he turned toward his son slowly, breath held tightly as he waited for the answer. He wasn't sure he wanted it.

“I...umm...” Kurt slipped his arm off of Blaine's shoulders and suddenly wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

“Kurt, answer the question,” Burt said softly. There were a thousand answers running around in his brain right now and he didn't like any of them. He needed to know which one it was.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked quietly, his body tilting away from his friend just slightly. Burt knew Kurt felt the loss. His eyes slid closed and his whole body seemed to hunch in on itself.

“I’m so sorry.”

Not since the doctor had told him of his wife's death had so few words hurt so badly. The room suddenly seemed too small and everything felt unsteady, like the whole world had suddenly slowed down or been knocked off kilter. 

Burt felt like his stomach had dropped to his feet; like his heart would pound out of his chest. He wondered vaguely if he was going to have another heart attack.

Kurt couldn't have had anything to do with this. He couldn't have. Kurt would never...not Blaine. He...Burt realized that Kurt was still talking and he dragged his mind back from the dark, horrible place it had gone.

“I didn't know he would ask you,” Kurt said, facing only Blaine now, one hand reaching out to his friend. Tears were trailing down his cheeks in two steady lines. “I didn't know that he...I'm _so_ sorry.”

“Kurt, are you saying-”

“Kurt, stop talking right now. Don't say another word,” Burt shouted over the detective's voice, suddenly terrified of what Kurt was about to do. This couldn't be happening.

Kurt turned toward them, confused, hand trembling where it was still reaching out to Blaine. “What?”

“Kurt, are you saying you had something to do with this?” Choi asked again, taking a step toward the bed. Burt wondered if he could get through him and to his son before the detective could pull his gun. Then he wondered what the hell he was even doing, thinking something like that. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Kurt's face went pale, tears drying up to be replaced with outrage, then horror. “No!” he shouted, standing up from the bed as if he had been burned. “How could you- No! No, I would never- Blaine, no.”

He turned toward Blaine, who was still sitting wide-eyed on the bed, trembling like a leaf in a gale force wind. The look on his face was nothing but a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

“Blaine, I would never,” Kurt said again desperately, begging the other boy to believe him. “I couldn't. Please, I...I would never.”

Blaine hesitated for just a moment, a single instant that seemed to break Kurt in two, only to put him back together again when Blaine reached out for his hand. Kurt went immediately, wrapping Blaine up in his arms again. They clung to each other tightly and Burt tried to force himself to breathe again. Of course that wasn't it. He felt like an idiot for thinking even for a second that it could be.

“Then what did you mean, Kurt?” The detective asked, still not completely convinced. Burt tried not to be angry at him, Kurt's words had been pretty damning, but it was hard. They needed an answer.

“Kurt,” Burt said, trying desperately to keep his voice under control. He moved slowly over to where the boys were sitting, still clinging to each other, and placed a hand on his son's shoulder. “Kurt, what did you mean? Why are you sorry?”

Kurt glanced up at him, then looked back down at Blaine who looked confused but no longer scared. “He asked me first,” he whispered, eyes staying on Blaine's, begging him to understand.

“What?”

“What...”

“What?!”

The chorus of noise was deafening, or maybe that was just the roaring in Burt's ears. He wondered how many times his heart could stop today before he just dropped.

“I didn't know, I swear,” Kurt said again desperately, his hands tightening in Blaine's where they were resting on the other boy's lap. “I didn't...It was the last day of school before winter break. He came to me after class and said I was his best student, which I thought was strange because I had only been there for a month. But then he told me about the film festival at the theater in Oakley and asked if I wanted to go. I thought it was weird, so I said no.”

Kurt sniffed, all his attention still riveted on Blaine. He looked heartbroken. Burt just felt sick.

“I should have told someone,” Kurt whispered. “I knew it was weird. I should have told. I just...I had no idea that _that_ was what he...I didn't know. Please, Blaine, you have to believe me. I _didn't_ know.”

Blaine nodded without hesitation, his hands twisting in Kurt's until they linked together, fitting into each other like a puzzle. Behind them the detective cleared his throat.

“I'll uh...I'll make sure that gets into the report. Mr. Hummel, can I talk to you outside for just a minute.”

Burt nodded, numbly following the other man out the door. He sank gratefully into one of the waiting chairs across the hallway, resting his elbows on his knees. It felt like he was looking at the world through a sheet of ice. Everything was cold and distorted, broken through the cracks and fissures that had suddenly formed.

“Mr. Hummel, I...” Choi sighed heavily and sat down next to Burt, his eyes screwing shut as if he were in pain. “This is bad. The fact that he doesn't remember. I...” He sighed again, running a hand through his hair and then stood up and started pacing.

“I was really relying on his testimony here, I've got to admit. I've already gotten reports back from my team that went to the motel. The room had been stripped clean already by the time they got there. The bed sheets had already been washed, any fingerprints had been wiped clean. Everything was gone. And the girl that was at the counter last night, the only witness who would have seen them, by all accounts would have been so high when they came in she wouldn't have noticed if her own father had waltzed through the lobby in a tutu singing the national anthem. And then with Blaine showering before you got there...I just...”

“Are you saying you have _nothing_?”

An irrational surge of anger welled up inside Burt. How could he stand there and say that their only hope of catching this bastard had been the word of the underage victim? He was a detective, this is what he did. He caught the bad guy and put him away for hurting kids.

But...wasn't it Burt's fault that the room had been cleaned? He knew something was wrong the second Blaine had answered him on the phone. Shouldn't he have called the police then, instead of giving Blaine the time to wash away the evidence? Instead of driving him an hour away back to Lima shouldn't he have bundled him off to the nearest police station and made him start talking immediately?

“I'm not giving up on this, Mr. Hummel,” the detective said adamantly, knocking Burt from his disparaging thoughts. But then his face fell and he sighed deeply. “But it's really important that if Blaine remembers anything you call me right away, alright?”

Burt took the business card that he handed him, tucking it into his pants pocket. He wasn't sure what to say to him. 'Don't you fucking fail him' seemed a little unnecessary, but it was all Burt could think of so he kept his mouth shut.

“Are you going to be taking him home?”

Burt looked up to see the detective still standing there, looking at him expectantly. “Yeah. I mean...to _our_ place. We'll be taking him back to our place.” There was no way in hell he was going to take him back to his own home and leave him with the damn butler.

“Alright. I'll...keep in touch.”

With that the detective walked away, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went and leaving Burt all alone in the deserted hallway with his thoughts.

A quick glance at his watch told him it was just passed one. Blaine had called at a little after nine o'clock that morning which meant it had only been four hours since this all started; four hours, and yet he felt like his whole world had been shaken like a snow globe and now he was in the middle of the maelstrom, waiting for the pieces to settle.

'He asked me first.'

Kurt's words came back to hit him like a freight-train in the silence of the hallway. His brain could hardly process the thought. _He asked me..._ That sick bastard had asked _Kurt_. The man who had been teaching his son for three months, who had told him stories about Europe and probably _touched_ him, was a rapist, and he had wanted Kurt.

Burt groaned and buried his face in his suddenly trembling hands. It could have been Kurt that had called him that morning; it could have been Kurt whose blood was staining the seat in his truck.

A tiny voice, dark and awful, whispered up from inside him that said, 'You're grateful. You're grateful that it wasn't him.'

God help him, but it was true. And didn't that just earn him father of the year? He was _grateful_ that the boy sitting in that room with bruises around his throat, whose blood would be tested for STD's, who needed pain medication and special ointments because of what had happened to him _wasn't_ his son.

Nausea welled up inside him, making his stomach turn and his throat clench tightly. He would never wish this on anyone. He wanted to wrap his hands around the neck of the bastard that had hurt Blaine and not let go until the body stopped twitching. But yes, he was grateful that it hadn't been Kurt.

“Dad?” Kurt's small, exhausted voice drew his attention up to the door of Blaine's room.

Burt tamped down on all the emotions that were swirling through his head; the fear and anger and self-loathing. There were two boys in that room that needed him right now. They needed him to be strong. Everything else could wait.

“What is it, Kurt?” he asked, standing slowly, body creaking and protesting like he had aged twenty years in the last ten minutes. 

“Are we...can we go home? Blaine wants to go home.”

Burt didn't think for a second that Blaine meant the home in Eatondale.

“Yeah, kiddo,” Burt sighed, walking over to his son and pulling him into a vise-like hug. He breathed in the scent of him, clean and sharp, with just a hint of antiseptic from the brief time he had been here. He was whole and strong beneath Burt's hands, and he was safe. Now they just had to get Blaine there too.

“Yeah, let's go home.”

***

After a quick stop to the pharmacy to pick up Blaine's prescriptions Burt had ushered the two drooping boys into the back seat of Kurt's SUV (his own truck was being taken to the crime lab, in case it held evidence) and they were finally leaving the hospital behind.

The ride home was silent. Burt kept one eye on the road and the other in the rear-view mirror. Kurt and Blaine sat side by side in the back, Blaine curled into Kurt's side with his head resting on Kurt's shoulder and eyes wide open and vacant. Kurt would occasionally run his hand through Blaine's hair, trying uselessly to smooth out the disheveled curls.

When they pulled into the garage Burt sighed at the sight of Carole's car. She had called several times when they had been waiting for Blaine's exam to finish, but Burt had ignored her calls. He knew it would just make her worry, but he hadn't known what to say. Burt shut his door and turned to watch Blaine slide carefully out of the car, the paper bag with his medication clutched tightly in one hand. He knew he was going to have to explain where they had been and why they suddenly had a house guest again and he was dreading that conversation.

She met them at the door that led inside from the garage, concern mixed with a healthy dose of anger on her face. Burt could give her that; he'd be angry too. But when she saw the exhausted looks on all of their faces the anger disappeared. And when she took in the scrubs that Blaine was wearing in place of clothing, the bruises that were so painfully visible underneath them and the way Kurt clutched his hand so tightly, Burt could see her switch over into full out worried-mother mode.

She stood back, giving them all room to come inside and Burt sighed softly, letting some of the tension ease away a little as he stopped to kiss her cheek. With Carole by his side he could handle this.

“Kurt, why don't you and Blaine go downstairs?” Carole suggested, giving Kurt's shoulder a gentle squeeze and sending a soft smile to Blaine. “Let me talk to your father.”

Kurt nodded and pulled Blaine gently toward the basement. Carole waited until she heard the door shut, then Burt allowed her to usher him into the living room and onto the couch. She went into the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee, then came back and sat down beside him.

“Start from the beginning,” she said, placing a hand on his knee, a soft, comforting grip that grounded him. He let her calming presence wash over him for a moment, easing away a little more of the tension that had gripped him for hours, and then he started to talk.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

“He doesn't deserve to call himself a parent.”

Carole had been growling angry remarks at the stove for the past half hour, ever since Blaine had told them that he had finally spoken to his father and that the older Anderson wouldn't be coming home from his meetings in Japan. Pans clattered as she cooked and Burt knew enough to stay well out of her way.

“And what about his _mother_? What kind of woman ignores her son's pain? If I could get my hands on her I would...” She let out an actual growl and Burt heard a sound like breaking pottery.

He saw Kurt stick his head around the basement door, looking bleary eyed and exhausted, but he popped back out again when he saw the look on Carole's face.

They were all exhausted. Burt had only slept in fits and spurts, any actual sleep he got interrupted with broken dreams of Kurt and Blaine and Finn, surrounded by monsters and him helpless to save them. When he woke from the dreams it was to the sounds of Carole crying or caught in dreams of her own.

The boys hadn't even tried to sleep. Burt had checked on them several times during the night, too restless to just lie in bed staring at the ceiling. Each time he had crept down the stairs to the basement he had found them wide awake, watching an 'I Love Lucy' marathon on Kurt's small TV. They had stayed huddled together on the couch all night, leaning on each other for comfort. The only laughter coming from the room was from the TV.

Then to top it all off he and Carole has emerged from their room early that morning to find Blaine pacing the living room floor, dressed in a mismatch of Kurt and Finn's sleep clothes, with his cell phone clutched to his ear.

“But Dad...Dad, I...Please, can't you just...Yes, sir. Yes, sir. B-” Blaine has pulled the phone away from his ear and looked down at the blank screen. “He's not...he can't come.”

The pain in his voice had been more resigned than upset, as if he had known what his father's answer would be. And now here they were, zombies walking around like they were real people and none of them knowing what to do next.

Burt and Carole had both called in sick to work, not willing to be unavailable if anything happened, and the boys had not gone back to Dalton, for obvious reasons. Carole had called Finn last night after their talk and asked him to stay at Artie's for a while, but it was a lot to ask the Abrams to keep Finn during the school week and he would have to come home soon. Burt would have to talk to Blaine about how much he wanted Finn to know. That wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to.

“Kurt, honey, come get breakfast for you and Blaine,” Carole paused long enough in her angry diatribe to shout down to the basement.

Kurt popped into the kitchen a minute later, eying Carole warily, then popped out again, breakfast in hand, without saying a word. For half an hour they sat in silence, prodding heartlessly at their cooling meals. Several times Burt tried to start a conversation, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say so he stopped trying.

Just as Carole was reaching out to pick up their still full plates the doorbell rang. They looked at each other in confusion; most of Kurt and Finn's friends were all at school and the two of them didn't know anyone who would randomly stop by on a Monday morning.

Burt moved slowly to his feet and out into the living room. He saw two weary faces peeking out of the basement just as he opened the door.

“Detective Choi,” Burt said as a greeting to the man on the other side of the door. He moved aside so that the detective could come in. “You look about as terrible as I feel.”

Choi turned to face Burt and his eyes went wide. “If I look as bad as you I'm not doing nearly as well as I thought.”

Burt gave a halfhearted chuckle and led the exhausted looking man to the couch. “Do you need to talk to Blaine?” Burt asked, waving the two boys into the room.

“No. Well, yes. I...” The detective sighed deeply, his shoulders suddenly hunching as if a great weight had settled on them at the sight of Blaine's pale, hopeful face. “Unfortunately I'm not here to ask more questions.”

He turned to face Blaine, who was still standing in the basement doorway with Kurt, sorrow deeply etched across his face. “I'm so sorry, Blaine,” he said softly, sympathy and anger and a dozen other emotions in those four little words. “The DA won't prosecute. They said there's no case. They...we had to let him go.”

***

“This is...I can't believe this. This isn't _right_!”

Burt watched as Carole moved angrily back and forth across the room between where Blaine sat morosely in the recliner, Kurt perched protectively on the arm beside him, and where Detective Choi stood, shoulders hunched and eyes sad. She looked desperately torn between wanting to comfort Blaine and wanting to wring the detective's neck.

Blaine looked vulnerable and small in Burt's oversized armchair as he tried valiantly to wipe away the tears that kept sliding down his cheeks. And Kurt just looked lost.

Anger seethed up inside Burt, hot and painful, and mixed with the feelings of helplessness and fear he had been pushing aside ever since he picked Blaine up from the motel yesterday. 

Things like this couldn't just happen. A man, a _teacher_ , couldn't just rape a child entrusted to his care and get away with it. You were supposed to be able to trust people. There are places in this world where you're just supposed to be _safe_. A child shouldn't be afraid to go to their own school. 

All the emotions and memories welled up inside Burt, running on a collision course with each other. Memories of Kurt trying not to cry in the principal's office after they found out Karofsky was going to be let back into the school. Of Blaine's voice on the phone, so scared and lost, just yesterday.

It wasn't right. It wasn’t right at all. Children shouldn't be afraid. They should be safe.

Everything boiled over into a miasma of rage in Burt's head and he grabbed the closest thing he could reach and threw it against the living room wall with all his strength.

Everyone in the room jumped as the lamp shattered and clattered to the floor in pieces.

“Dad...” Kurt's voice was soft and a little scared, one hand reaching out toward Burt.

Burt knew his son was worried about his heart, and he thought distantly that maybe he should be too, but he just couldn't care right now. “This is bullshit,” he growled, pointing one anger finger at the detective who now looked slightly wary. “I saw what that asshole did to him and so did you. Don't you tell me there's no case here. You go down to the station, or the DA's office, or the god damn mayor's house, and you make this right. You make it right or I swear I will-”

“Burt!” Carole's voice was panicked, her eyes wide with sudden fear. Threatening the life of a police officer was a crime, but Burt didn't care. All he could think about was the blood on Blaine's clothes and the way he had sobbed helplessly into Burt's shoulder on the side of the road.

“You fix this,” Burt demanded, anger, exhaustion, and good sense all warring together in his head. “That's what you're here for. To protect people. To bring them justice. You have to fix this.”

“I _can't_.” The detective's eyes were pleading, his eyes full of sorrow. “I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel. Blaine.”

He turned to face the boy, who hadn't moved since Kurt had first steered him into the recliner after the detective's announcement. He looked imploringly at Blaine, as if seeking the teenagers forgiveness. “I'm so sorry. Really I am, but I tried all night to make them change their minds and they just won't. The truth is that there's just...there's just no evidence that he was the one that hurt you.

“ _I_ believe you. I do. But with no evidence, and the reports we got from your school...my superiors won't let me keep following this. They told me to look for another suspect...or drop the case.”

“But...there is no one else.”

Choi nodded slowly at Blaine's quiet words, his eyes falling dejectedly to the floor, and Burt watched helplessly as tears welled up in Blaine's eyes again. Kurt looked down at his friend, at the way his shoulders hunched and his hands clenched tightly in the borrowed sleep pants. When Kurt opened his mouth to speak, to fight for this boy that he cared about so much, Burt winced and shook his head in warning.

His son had an acid tongue, and he would fight to the death to protect a friend, even if that courage was sometimes hard to find for himself. But Burt knew that it would do no good now. One look at the detective's face told him everything he needed to know. It was over, and there was nothing they could do.

Kurt's mouth snapped shut at Burt's warning and he glared at him furiously, but that was fine by Burt. He could handle his son's anger because he knew it would blow over soon in the face of everything else. One person in the family threatening the life of a police officer today was probably more than enough.

“Kurt, you and Blaine go back downstairs. Let us talk to the detective, alright?” Burt said, his voice making it clear that it wasn't a suggestion.

Kurt wanted to protest, Burt knew, but when Blaine simply stood up and retreated back toward the sanctuary of the basement Kurt followed. But before they went downstairs Blaine turned back to the detective; his face was pale and his eyes blank, lifeless. He looked like a shadow of the boy that had spent Christmas break with them.

“Is this...my fault?” he asked hollowly, not really meeting Choi's eyes. “If I hadn't taken a shower would you...would there be evidence?”

Choi hesitated for just a moment, a moment that was far more damning that the words he offered Blaine. “This guy knew how to cover his tracks, Blaine. Odds are we wouldn't have found anything no matter what you did.”

Blaine nodded, the expression on his face clear that he didn't believe a word of it, and the boys disappeared downstairs again.

“Mr. Hummel-”

“I need to know something,” Burt said, quickly, without giving himself time to think about it. A question had been scratching at his mind since yesterday and he couldn't leave it alone. A big part of him didn't want to ask, didn't really want the answer, but he knew he had to know.

“Did that bastard...did he pick them because...because they're...”

He couldn't ask. He _couldn't_ know the answer to this. He just couldn't handle it if _that_ was the reason why.

“Because they're gay?” Detective Choi offered hesitantly.

Burt looked up at him, a little startled. Okay, sure, with Kurt it was a little obvious, he's pretty sure the shirt his son had been wearing yesterday wasn't designed for a man, but unless Blaine got really excited about something he just didn't come off that way.

The detective smiled softly, his eyes flicking towards the basement door. “The way they are with each other, I just assumed. But it also came up during my investigation at the school yesterday.”

Burt nodded in understanding. Choi was just another person who looked at Blaine and Kurt and saw something more, something special. Burt allowed himself a moment of sorrow for that never realized relationship between them. Would Blaine ever be able to return Kurt's love now, or was it too late?

“The truth is, Mr. Hummel-”

“Please, can you call me Burt?” he asked, interrupting Choi. He knew he was stalling. He was going to get an answer to the question he couldn't ask, and he really didn't want it. “You're making me feel old.”

The detective chuckled, nodding amiably. But then his face fell serious again. “Burt, the truth is that them being gay very likely could have been a factor in Grant's choosing them. Plausible deniability. If he had been caught with them he could have claimed that they were willing participants. And since both of them are over the age of consent for Ohio it would have made it a game of 'who's telling the truth' if it went to court. So yes, that probably was one reason.

“But mostly I think it was because they were vulnerable. Kurt had just transferred to Dalton, he was new, lonely, still dealing with the issues from his old school and he didn't have many friends yet.

“And with Blaine, he probably knew about his absentee parents and his desire to please them. He would have known how devastating a low grade would have been to him and so he exploited Blaine's need to be perfect and used it to force his hand. Blaine probably thought the same thing Kurt did, that Grant's offer was weird, that something was wrong about it, but to him there was no choice.”

There must have been surprise in Burt's face - it had been less than twenty-four hours since Choi had started on the case, how could he know all that? - because the detective chuckled again.

“I, uh...I haven't slept since Friday night,” he said, running a depreciating hand through his disheveled hair. Carole made a soft, sympathetic noise and slipped off to the kitchen, running her hand soothingly across Burt's back as she passed him.

“I have a tendency to concentrate solely on my cases when I get them and not much else,” the detective continued. “I'd tell you to ask my girlfriend to confirm that but none of them have stuck around for more than a few months since I got promoted to detective. I take my job very seriously, Burt. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do was watch Grant walk out of the precinct this morning.”

Carole came back with two cups of coffee, handing one to each of them. Burt pulled her close to his side before she could walk away again, placing a kiss on her temple and leaning into her warmth. She smiled softly up at him and wrapped her arm around his back, and he thanked whoever the hell was listening for sending this woman into his life.

Choi sipped at his coffee for a minute, letting the silence stretch around them. He looked like he was about ready to drop and the only thing keeping him going was sheer force of will.

Burt felt guilty for yelling at him earlier. It was obvious the man was on Blaine's side, but he couldn't change the laws any more than they could.

“How can they not believe him?” Carole asked, once the silence began to be too much. “How could...I just don't understand. Didn't anyone at the theater see them together? They must have been there for hours.”

Choi placed his cup on the coffee table, nodding derisively. The look in his tired eyes was one of pure frustration. “Oh, Grant admitted to taking Blaine to the theater. But he said he dropped him off at the Oakley bus station after the last movie. He even has a witness to corroborate the time frame.”

“An _alibi_? From who?” Carole asked, outraged.

“His wife. She said he was home by midnight, which would have given him just enough time to drop Blaine off at the station and return to his home in Chesapeake. He stays there on the weekends with his wife and keeps an apartment in Westerville for the work week.”

“How could she...she's _helping_ him?”

“She probably has been for years. Maybe even unknowingly. Or more likely unwilling to see the truth. Grant's done this before, I can guarantee it, and she's a part of it whether she knows it or not. It certainly wouldn't be the first time I've come across a situation like that. The wife turns a blind eye because she can't handle the truth, or because she's too used to a certain way of living and doesn't want to give it up.” 

“Well, what reasoning did he have for taking a seventeen year old alone to the movies?” Burt asked, his head spinning with everything the detective has told them. 

Choi looked up at Burt and sighed. “Claims he was just 'trying to help the boy out'. And he has a long history of work that says it's true. To be quite honest the man is a pillar of society. At least he pretends to be one. He's been teaching for over twenty years, fifteen of which have been at Dalton. He volunteers with underprivileged youth on the weekends, has a loving wife of seventeen years and has even won awards for his service to the community and for his teaching.

“All that I found out in about fifteen minutes. Which is about as long as it took for my superiors to decide that Grant was innocent. A man who's won awards for his exemplary career in helping children versus a seventeen year old with a shady past? To them it wasn't even worth their time.”

“Shady?”

The detective realized his mistake at the disbelieving tone of Carole's question. Blaine Anderson was about as shady as a sapling in the middle of winter. The boy had perfect grades, a list of extracurricular activities a mile long, and he still found time to help wayward boys from other schools find their courage. 'Shady' was about the last word Burt would think of to describe Blaine.

Burt could see the hesitation on his face. He knew there were rules, confidentiality and all that garbage, but the way Burt figured it was that Blaine was here, with them, and his father was ten thousand miles away and didn't seem to give a damn. They needed to be able to help him, and to do that they had to understand him. If there were things they needed to know then they damn well better be told.

Burt assumed that his thoughts were written clearly across his face because the detective sighed deeply and then began to explain.

“I was trying to set a precedent, to see if there was anything that could point towards Grant's true nature, so I interviewed some of the other teachers from the school. That's when I found out that Blaine was involved in an elicit relationship with one of the teacher's assistants last year.

“Dalton uses some of the fourth year teaching students from the local university to help grade papers and do some tutoring. They're not supposed to interact with the boys outside of the classroom, but Blaine and one of the TA's were seeing each other for several months and keeping it hidden. Blaine was sixteen at the time and the TA was twenty-three, which isn't illegal in Ohio. But when they were caught they were in Blaine's dorm room and they had alcohol and...some illegal substances with them.

“The TA was charged with drug possession and supplying alcohol to a minor. Blaine's father convinced the Westerville police to not press charges on Blaine for the marijuana because there was no evidence that he had actually used it, and a rather sizable donation kept the school from expelling him.

“This man...he knows what he's doing. He covered his tracks, already had an alibi in place, and made sure that no one would believe the word of the victim. Hell, if I hadn't spoken to Blaine myself I'd...well, I'd probably think the same way they do. But the truth is that not even Blaine knows if it was really Grant or not. My gut feeling just isn't enough to make the case, so...here we are.”

Silence settled over the living room, a thick, uncomfortable fog that seemed to permeate the air around them. Eventually Detective Choi stood, hands rubbing across his face with a weary sigh. “Grant will try to hurt another boy,” he said slowly, his voice pitched low and his eyes glancing at the basement door. “And when he does I'll be there. I'm not going to let this go.”

He walked over to the door, eyes downcast to the floor as his feet moved like leaden weights. “Tell Blaine...just tell him how sorry I am. I...yeah.”

And with that he left the house, leaving Burt and Carole alone with the silence.

***

“Burt, honey, are you going to work?” Carole asked from the kitchen, dishes from their discarded breakfast in hand.

Burt's fingers fumbled with this shoelaces and he cursed under his breath. He was so angry he couldn't see straight and he felt like he had been living in that place in his head for months.

“I have to do something, Carole. I can't just...” Burt sighed when Carole walked over to him and grabbed his fumbling hands. “It's not right. Something has to happen. The least I can do is go to the school and make sure they know what happened. Make sure they fire him before he hurts another kid.”

Carole nodded solemnly, but she steered him over over to the couch and pulled him gently to sit down. “Burt, honey, I understand. Really I do. But...”

She paused for a moment and Burt could see her trying to collect her thoughts. Her hands squeezed his tightly where they rested between them. “Is this...really your job?”

Burt's first reaction was to be angry. Of course this was his job. He couldn't just stand back and do nothing. Blaine deserved some sort of justice, and if this was all he could do for him he was damn well going to do it.

But when he looked into Carole's eyes he saw the strong, loving woman he had married. The woman who had sat beside him just days after their wedding and fought to protect his son as if he were her own.

She wasn't asking him if he _should_ , she was asking if they could, as a family, take this step for Blaine. How far were they willing to go? They weren't his family, but they were all he had.

“I have to,” Burt said, gripping Carole's hands back. “I just...I can't do nothing.”

Carole nodded, accepting his decision without question. They would do whatever they had to.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Burt pulled into an empty space in front of the administration building at Dalton and got out quickly, walking around to the other side and facing the car that was pulling in beside him. He leveled his best fatherly glare at the boy sliding out of the front seat on the driver's side.

“Get back in the car and go home, right now,” he demanded, arms crossing over his chest to keep himself from just stuffing the kid back into the SUV and locking him inside.

This was the last place he wanted his son to be right now. 

He had gotten a call from Carole about half way to the school, informing him that the boys were gone and that she was pretty sure they were following him. He had tried Kurt's phone twice and Blaine’s once, getting nothing but voice-mail each time.

Then a few miles from Dalton he had stopped at a light and Kurt's Expedition had pulled up behind him. The face he had seen in his rear-view mirror had looked guilty but determined, which, Burt knew full well, meant he was in for a fight.

Kurt shook his head at Burt's demand, his own arms crossing in front of him. Sometimes Burt had a hard time seeing anything but Kurt's mother in his son; other times he wished the kid hadn't gotten quite so much of _him_.

“Kurt.”

“No,” Kurt said, resolution clear in his voice. He wasn't going anywhere. “This is Blaine's fight too, which makes it my fight, and we're not going anywhere. The police didn't believe him. If Blaine can tell his side of the story, then maybe Dean Reeves will.”

Burt was about to answer, to tell Kurt that this wasn't up for argument, that they were going home where it was safe and they weren't leaving the house again until Burt said they could. _Never_ , his brain whispered. But then Blaine slid slowly out of the car on the other side and turned to face the two of them.

It was obvious that he had taken the last few moments to gather his nerves. He looked terrified, eyes darting around to the few students that were wandering the campus as if they could see all his secrets just by looking at him. But beneath that was a determination as resolute as Kurt's, and as he limped slowly around the car Burt's resolve crumbled.

He didn't want them here. He wanted them safe, and as far away from this place where that monster had met them, had seen them and chosen them for his sick desires, as he could possibly get them. But Kurt was right. This was Blaine's fight, and if he needed to be there then Burt couldn't deny him that.

He turned toward the building where the Dean's office was and led them inside.

***

“Mr. Hummel,” Dean Reeves said politely from behind his desk, not bothering to stand as his secretary let them into the room. “Kurt. Blaine. Please have a seat.”

“I assume you know why we're here,” Burt said plainly, letting the boys take the two chairs in front of the desk and placing himself between them and the Dean. The look on the other man's face did not bode well for this conversation. Burt was already regretting letting the boys come.

Reeves nodded, eyes glancing briefly over at Blaine whose shoulders hunched at the scrutiny. “One of my teachers was arrested yesterday on our playing field in the middle of coaching my lacrosse team. The whole school knows what happened, Mr. Hummel.”

Burt glanced back at the boys and saw their eyes widen. Blaine suddenly looked sick, dread replacing the determination on his face. The whole school knew. Burt couldn't imagine how devastating that news was to him.

He turned back to the Dean, more resolved than ever to see this through. “What are you going to do about it?” he demanded.

Reeves' eyes roamed over the three of them and he cleared his throat delicately, as if taking the time to weigh his next words. “Mr. Hummel, I'm not sure if you're really aware of the entire... _situation_ with Blaine,” he said pragmatically, glancing over Burt's shoulder to where Blaine was sitting.

Burt bit back a growl, jaw clenching in an effort to hold back the tide of words that were welling up inside him. He leaned forward instead, placing his hands on the edge of the desk and purposefully invading the Dean's personal space. He wanted the man to think very carefully about his next words.

“And what 'situation' would you be referring to, Mr. Reeves?”

Reeves' eyes widen fractionally, but then his back straightened as if he were determined not to be intimidated by Burt's unvoiced threat.

“Blaine has a reputation here, Mr. Hummel,” he said, his voice full of disdain. Burt was sure he was a man that didn't appreciate scandal touching his precious school and now Blaine was here causing an uproar for the second time. “And not a very flattering one. I'm not sure you're taking that entirely into consideration.”

Burt was about to respond when he heard the scrape of a chair moving across the hardwood floor and suddenly Blaine was beside him.

“This is _nothing_ like what happened with Adam,” Blaine ground out, words forcing themselves out through a jaw clenched tight. He was shaking, in fury or fear, Burt wasn't sure which.

“Adam was a mistake,” he continued, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “And I admitted that. I've spent the last nine months trying to make up for it, but you've never let me forget. I've done everything I could to earn your forgiveness, the whole school's forgiveness, and now you're going to compare _this_ to a stupid mistake?” 

“Mr. Anderson-”

“No!” Blaine was angry now and Burt was glad. He had sat so passively just that morning listening to Detective Choi. This anger was better than the numb state he had been in since they had left the hospital.

“You like me well enough when I'm winning trophies for the school, but as soon as I fall off your damn pedestal you turn your back on me. I thought this school would be a sanctuary, but it's just a prison.”

With that Blaine was turning and running out the door into the waiting room. Kurt stood quickly and rushed after him, reaching him before he could flee into the corridor outside.

Burt watched them from the doorway of the Dean's office, not wanting to intrude but not wanting them to be alone either. Kurt took Blaine by the shoulders and tried to pull him into a hug, but for the first time Blaine resisted, pulling away from Kurt and sinking like a stone into the chairs by the door.

Kurt sat down slowly beside him, reaching out to slide one hand across his hunched shoulders. When Blaine finally relented and leaned into Kurt's touch Burt shut the door just enough to help block out sound and turned back to the man who was still sitting stiffly behind his desk.

“It's your job to protect people,” he said roughly, the words coming out hollowly, too familiar in his mouth. “Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me that you're not going to do anything to the man who _raped_ one of your students?”

Reeves flinched at that and Burt sincerely hoped he had offended the man's stuck-up sensibilities. He wasn't going to let him just sugar-coat the situation in an effort to swallow it easier.

“This school has a well-earned reputation, Mr. Hummel,” Reeves said, his hands folding perfectly on the desk in front of him. He was calm and assured and perfectly polite; Burt wanted to throttle him for it. He should be outraged. Didn't anyone care what had happened to this boy?

“We trust our teachers-”

“But not your students?”

“Not the ones that haven't earned it. Mr. Hummel, the truth of the matter is that you have no proof-”

“The bruises around his neck are proof enough for me!” Burt leaned over the desk again, hands clenching tightly around the perfectly carved edge. “The real truth here is that you care more about this school's damn reputation than you do the well-being of its students. How do you think the parents of the other students will feel when they find out that you're allowing that asshole to keep teaching here?”

“Mr. Hummel, you have no proof-”

“Damn it, man, don't you care at all that-”

“Dad!”

Kurt's panicked shout from out in the waiting room stopped Burt short and without a spare thought for the man sitting in front of him he was turning and running out the door.

At first he didn't understand what was going on. In the waiting room Kurt and Blaine looked panicked, the secretary looked nervous, and a man Burt didn't know was standing in the opposite doorway watching the boys.

He was tall and lean, his body well-built but not overly muscular, and clothed in a very expensive looking suit. His brown hair was cut short and respectable and was graying at the temples. He looked like a lawyer or a doctor; he looked like he could be anyone.

It wasn't until the man reached out one hand towards Blaine, an innocent gesture, just a friendly pat on the back, that Burt understood.

At the threat of this stranger's touch Blaine flinched back so violently that he collided with Kurt and sent them both stumbling backwards. That's when Burt knew that he was looking at the face of the man that had raped Blaine.

Before he knew what was happening Burt was across the room and had one hand wrapped around the bastards neck, the other pushing at his sternum until he heard the satisfying thunk of the man's skull bouncing off the open door. It rattled under their weight and Burt pushed harder, heedless of the startled gasps from the boys or the secretary's scream.

All Burt could see when he looked into the man's wide eyes was the motel room where he had found Blaine. He saw the rumpled bed and the carefully placed blankets that hid the bloodstains underneath. He saw Blaine in that bed, drugged and helpless, and this man, this _monster_ , holding him down, leaving bruises and spilling his blood so callously. 

There was a shouted protest behind him but Burt for the life of him couldn't tell who it was. All he knew was the feel of the man’s throat under his hand and the way his mouth moved desperately, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

Distantly, as Grant struggled and tried to push back, Burt felt a hand on his shoulder trying to pull him away. “Mr. Hummel,” Reeves shouted, yanking at Burt's arm again. “Don't make me call the police!”

The Dean's angry words finally got through to Burt and he released Grant with one last hard shove. The last thing Blaine needed right now was for Burt to get arrested for assault.

Burt backed off, placing himself between Grant and the two boys. Their eyes were wide, terrified, and Burt suddenly regretted his actions. After all they had been through they didn't need to see that kind of violence from the man who was supposed to be protecting them.

“Professor Grant, considering the situation, this is highly inappropriate,” Reeves said, his tone reprimanding, like he was speaking to a student found roaming the halls during class. Not at all like he was confronting a rapist that had just tried to _touch his victim_.

Burt's hands clenched into fists at his sides in an effort to keep from wrapping around someone's throat again.

Grant straightened his jacket casually, the look on his face sympathetic as he turned back to where Burt and the boys were standing. Burt could feel them move closer to him, and he wanted desperately to just tuck them into his sides and never let them go.

“I just came to apologize to Blaine.”

Grant's words stopped everybody in their tracks. Was the man confessing?

But then his face turned pitying, almost condescending. He folded his hands neatly behind his back and nodded at the boy that was trembling violently behind Burt.

“If I had known how badly he would have taken a poor grade in my class I might have been a little more...lenient,” Grant continued, his voice a perfect tone of sorrow. “But to accuse me of such an unspeakable crime over something as petty as a grade point average? I expected better of you, Blaine.”

Burt heard a low, pained moan come from behind him, accompanied by an outraged gasp, and before he could react, before he could make a move for the bastard himself, he felt himself being pushed out of the way. And suddenly he was witnessing his son, his brave, foolish son, advancing on Grant like a snarling German Sheppard in designer clothes.

Burt reached out for him, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him back before he could get near Grant.

“You sick bastard,” Kurt growled, struggling against Burt's hold, trying to get at the man that had caused so much harm and was now standing there like nothing had ever happened. “How dare you! How dare you even suggest- you're fucking sick! You're sick and you should be shot! You should be fucking shot and you should rot in hell you asshole!”

Burt was stunned. Kurt had always hated swearing. He thought it was crass and showed a lack of intelligence. To hear those words coming out of his little boy's mouth shocked Burt into stillness for a minute, his son still struggling to get away from him.

It was Blaine's voice, soft and pained coming from behind them, that made Kurt still. “Kurt, stop.”

All eyes turned to Blaine and he flinched under their sudden scrutiny. His eyes kept darting back and forth between where Burt stood, still holding onto Kurt tightly, and where Grant was standing with Reeves.

“They made their decision,” Blaine said quietly. “It's over.”

Kurt deflated in Burt's arms, all the fight rushing out of him in a single breath of defeat. Burt squeezed his arm gently then reached out for Blaine too and pushed them both toward the door.

“Go to the car. Wait for me,” he said.

Blaine cast one last broken look back at Grant, then he grabbed Kurt's hand and they both quickly fled.

Before anyone else in the room had time to collect themselves Burt advanced on Grant again, grabbing him by the collar of his expensive suit and pulled him in close. Grant's eyes widened in fear but he didn't try to pull away. Burt knew that something in his face told the other man he was in a very dangerous position.

“If you ever go near Blaine again,” Burt growled, his hand tightening just enough to make his point. “I will bury you so deep they will never find the body.”

He didn't wait for a response, he didn't care what the bastard had to say, just released him and turned toward the door. Before he left he turned back to Reeves, who looked nervous and disoriented.

“They'll never be back,” Burt said decisively. “And if the rest of the parents here care about their kids they'll pull them out too.”

“You can't make that decision for Blaine, Mr. Hummel. You're not his father.”

Burt turned around and walked out the door. “Watch me,” he said, a promise to whoever was listening.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

The rest of the day had gone by in a haze. Thrown off kilter by lack of sleep and the encounter with Grant at the school, Burt felt like he was working on autopilot. Like every move he made was just muscle memory, a reaction from his brain telling his body what to do without consulting him first.

They had stopped by the boys' dorm rooms to grab their clothing, but had left everything else behind. Kurt had protested at first, but Burt had overruled him, wanting to get Blaine as far away from the school, from _Grant_ , as he could. Burt would come back for the rest later.

Standing in the doorway of Blaine’s dorm room, Burt had watched, heart breaking, as Blaine and Kurt had separated all of Blaine’s plain clothes from his uniforms. They had left the uniforms there, a pile of blue and red on the closet floor, like a testimony of a discarded life.

Blaine had worn that uniform so proudly, so sure of his place in the school, in the world he had wrapped himself in after leaving his old school. Burt had rarely seen him wearing anything else.

Burt had tried not to think about the Dean's words as they had loaded the boys into Kurt's SUV and he slid behind the wheel of Carole's car. _You're not his father_. He didn't care what it took, Blaine wasn't going back to that school. 

When they had finally returned home Carole had been waiting expectantly, her face hopeful, wanting to believe that the world couldn't be so cruel; that even though the police had turned their backs on Blaine that the school he loved wouldn't do the same. The looks on their faces as they walked back into the house must have told her everything she needed to know.

The hope had left her face in an instant, replaced with determination and painfully false bravado. She had taken the hampers from the boys and put them in the laundry room then returned to the kitchen to make a lunch that wouldn't be eaten.

Now, hours later, they were all getting ready for another restless night. Blaine had retreated to the basement already, while Kurt stayed upstairs to help clean up the dinner dishes.

“What are we going to do, Dad?” he asked, his lower lip pulled between his teeth and his eyes full of worry.

“We'll figure it out, Kurt, don't worry.” Burt pulled his son into a hug, holding him a little too tight, a little too long. When Kurt started to squirm, teenage propriety making him uncomfortable, Burt kissed his ruffled hair for good measure and finally released him.

Kurt gave him a small smile, then headed down the stairs to the basement. When his footsteps faded away and the house was silent again Burt finally made his way to his room where Carole was waiting.

***

“Dad!”

Burt was startled awake by the sound of his son's frantic voice and he instantly thought of Grant, standing in the Dean's office and reaching out for Blaine. As he ran out of his room and down the stairs to the living room all he could think of was the possibility that Grant had followed them here, that he had come for Blaine to shut him up.

He nearly collided with Kurt as they met each other at the bottom of the stairs and the first thing he saw was the line of blood smeared across Kurt's chin. 

“What happened?” Burt demanded, reaching out for his son, but Kurt grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the basement door.

“It was Blaine,” Kurt said, dragging him down the stairs. “He didn't mean to. Please, you have to...”

At the bottom of the stairs Kurt pushed him toward the bed where Burt immediately saw what had Kurt so upset. Blaine was on the bed, eyes closed tightly in sleep, thrashing wildly against an invisible attacker.

“He finally fell asleep,” Kurt said, his voice choked as he held a hand against his bleeding lip. “But then when I was doing my moisturizing routine he started making these sounds, like he was scared. When I tried to wake him up it got worse and he started doing _that_ and then he hit me. He didn't mean to.”

Burt nodded absently and moved cautiously toward the bed, trying to gauge Blaine's reaction as he got closer. The boy was whimpering miserably, his feet kicking at the blankets and hands pushing at something that wasn't there.

Burt heard a sound behind him and turned away from Blaine to see Carole stepping off the stairs, her hair a mess and a robe hastily pulled on over her nightgown. “He didn't mean to,” Kurt repeated when she reached out for him and started dabbing at his lip with a washcloth from his vanity.

“I know, honey,” Carole said quietly. She spared a single glance to the boy on the bed, then turned her full attention back to Kurt.

Burt closed his eyes for a moment, thankful beyond measure for Carole, then turned back to Blaine. He moved slowly until he was standing beside the bed, leaning cautiously over the struggling boy.

“Blaine,” Burt said gently, reaching one hand out to grasp at the boy's shoulder. “Blaine, you need to wake up.”

Blaine whimpered pitifully at Burt's touch, his body recoiling away from him instinctively and one hand shot out in defense. Burt was ready for that and he grabbed Blaine’s hand before he could do any damage, holding on tightly as the boy fought, still asleep and trapped in his dreams, to get free.

“Blaine, wake up,” Burt demanded, as kindly as he could. Tears were streaming from Blaine’s tightly closed eyes and the hand trapped in Burt's squeezed painfully as broken pleas began to break free.

“Please,” Blaine hissed, his body jerking on the bed and his feet still kicking uselessly. “Please stop. Let me-let me go. Please. Let me go.”

Burt choked back the sudden lump in his throat and held on tighter, praying that he was doing the right thing here. He heard a muffled sob come from behind him, but he wasn't sure if it was from Kurt or Carole.

“Blaine, you're safe,” he promised, the hand not clenched tightly in Blaine’s moving to his forehead, brushing the sweat-slick curls away from his eyes. “You're safe here, and I need you to wake up. Wake up, Blaine. Wake up.”

Blaine let out another plaintive whimper, then his eyes snapped open and he was scrambling away from Burt, tucking himself into the corner of the wall on the far side of the bed. His eyes were wild and he was gasping for air, his hands clenching tightly in the rumpled blankets around his waist.

“Blaine,” Burt said softly, not entirely certain that the boy was actually awake. “Blaine, you're alright. You're safe.”

Wide eyes danced quickly around the room, and as Blaine’s breathing slowed and his body relaxed a blush kept up over his pale face. “Sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” Burt said, backing up a little to give Blaine some space. “You alright?”

“I...” Burt's heart felt like it was breaking when Blaine looked up at him, the boy's eyes creased and his mouth twisted in an effort to hold back tears. When Blaine glanced at Carole and Kurt, still standing together in the middle of the room, his eyes went wide and he immediately leaned forward, moving toward the edge of the bed.

“Your face,” he whispered, holding out one hand as if to touch the bruise forming on the side of Kurt's mouth.

Kurt pulled away from Carole's embrace and moved over to the bed, sitting on the edge as close as he could without touching the other boy. “It's okay,” he said, lifting one pale hand to hide the bruise. “You didn't mean to.”

Blaine swallowed heavily, reaching out out to brush his fingers over Kurt's. “I did that,” he whispered, almost as if to himself, to cement the truth in his mind that he had hurt his friend.

“You didn't mean to,” Kurt said again, shaking his head slowly but not dislodging Blaine’s fingers.

“I'm so sorry,” Blaine said, his voice heavy with regret. “I'm sorry. I would never hurt you. I...”

“I know.”

Blaine’s eyes closed briefly and tears began to spill over his cheeks at Kurt's soft reassurance. The whole room had gone quiet, as if it had been wrapped in a bubble all its own, blocking the rest of the world out. There was just Blaine and Kurt, sitting on the bed, and Burt and Carole, lost, watching the two boys.

“You were dreaming,” Burt said slowly, breaking the silence, trying to get the boy's attention again.

Blaine nodded, glancing quickly back at Burt. His hand slipped away from Kurt's bruised cheek, wiping the tears from his own face before folding up into his lap. When Kurt reached out and wrapped his hands around Blaine’s he didn't pull away.

“Was it a memory?” Burt remembered Detective Choi's words, about how important it was that Blaine remember what had happened, how they had no case without his testimony. He didn't hold out much hope that Blaine’s word would mean much to the police at this point, but all they could do was try.

“I...no. Maybe?” Blaine sounded so unsure, lost as his brow creased in thought and his hands tightened around Kurt's. “It...everything kept jumping around. I don't know...I don't know if any of it was real.”

“Alright, well...you alright now? Do you need anything?”

Blaine looked up at the three people staring at him and blushed again. “No, I...I'm fine. I'm sorry. I should just...go back to sleep.”

He glanced over at the clock and blanched. “Oh God, it's so late. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...”

“It's alright, Blaine,” Burt tried to reassure him. “We understand.”

“But I'm causing so much trouble, I-”

“You're no trouble, Blaine,” Carole said, her voice gentle but full of conviction. “All we want is to help you. Now why don't you boys try and get some rest. Burt, honey, I'm going to go make some tea.”

She gave him a look that told him she wasn't planning on making tea, she was just using it as an excuse to leave, to give Blaine some privacy without making him feel awkward about it.

Carole leaned over to kiss Burt on the forehead and she gently squeezed Kurt and Blaine’s hands where they were still wrapped tightly together before retreating back to their room. As she left she turned off the bright overhead lights, leaving the room illuminated in the soft yellow glow from the bedside lamp.

Kurt pulled his hands away from Blaine’s and gently coaxed him to lie back down. When he pulled the blankets up over Blaine’s shoulders Blaine gave him a petulant glare, stealing the blankets out of Kurt's hands and arranging them himself. Kurt just smiled and sat down at the edge of the bed beside Blaine’s head.

Once the boys settled Burt situated himself at the end of the bed , bracketing Blaine between them and reached out to grasp the boy’s ankle, a gentle touch to help ground him. One of Kurt's hands slid out to stroke carefully through Blaine’s hair and Blaine slowly relaxed.

When he finally closed his eyes his face was creased with lines of pain, making him look far older than his seventeen years. Long minutes passed and Burt knew that Blaine was still awake by the periodic twitching of his body; minute movements to try and get comfortable.

Burt could feel him starting to get tense again, nervousness creeping into the lines of his body, but he couldn't tell if it was their presence so close to him, or the fear of dreaming again that was causing Blaine's nerves. He was about to suggest that they leave Blaine alone, let him try and sleep on his own, when he heard Kurt's sweet voice softly begin to fill the silence.

It was a song Burt didn't recognize, but there was no surprise there, and it seemed to have an immediate effect on Blaine. His body relaxed again and he moved one hand out from where it had been clutched to his chest to rest on Kurt's knee.

Blaine finally fell asleep like that, with the sound of Kurt's voice chasing away the shadows, and his feet tucked up against Burt's thigh.

***

“Dad?”

Kurt's soft voice roused Burt from the light doze he had fallen into. They had moved to the couch after Blaine had fallen asleep, finding comfort in the nearness of each other's presence, neither of them ready to return to their beds just yet.

Kurt was still snuggled up to Burt's side and Blaine was sleeping soundly on the bed behind them. Burt knew his nightmares weren't over, not by a long shot, but he was willing to accept the small victories right now, and Blaine sleeping was definitely one of those.

“What is it, Kurt?” Burt asked, pulling his son in a little closer. The house was quiet around them, and the clock on the bedside table read 3:28 in bright green letters. 

“Did you...” Kurt made a confused little noise, as if he wasn't sure what he was trying to say, and turned his head into Burt's shoulder to hide his face.

“What, Kurt? What is it?” Burt asked quietly, running a soothing hand over Kurt's suddenly stiff back.

Kurt mumbled something into Burt's shoulder, but he didn't understand a word of it. He nudged his son gently, forcing him to lift his head, and asked him to repeat himself.

“Did...did you really think that I could have had something to do with this?”

Burt wasn't sure what he was talking about at first; he knew what 'this' was referring to, this whole messed up hell they had found themselves in, but the rest...

And then he remembered, like getting flashes of a bad dream days after you had it. In the hospital room, Blaine sitting there in his borrowed scrubs, bruises stark and painful and tear tracks dried on his cheeks, then Kurt's softly spoken words; 'I'm so sorry.'

Burt remembered his heart sinking, he remembered the look on Blaine's face, on Detective Choi's; confusion and fear, and accusation. He knew he must have looked the same.

“No,” he said fiercely, never more sure of anything in his life. If there was anything in this world that he knew it was his son. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Kurt would never hurt anyone, let alone Blaine.

He had known that then too, even if his mind was panicking at the time. It had just taken him a few minutes to catch up.

Burt turned on the couch, pushing Kurt away just enough so that he could look into his son's face. So that Kurt would know what he was about to say was nothing but truth.

“I know you, Kurt. I may not understand you very often, but I _know_ you. And I know that you could never be capable of something like that.”

Kurt's eyes flitted away from Burt's like a nervous bird. “But at the hospital...”

Burt lifted one hand to Kurt's cheek, turning his head so that they were looking at each other again. “I know. And I'm sorry. I am. But Kurt, you need to understand, I wasn't thinking straight. I felt like my head had been on backwards all morning. And then you said you were sorry, and I didn't know what for. I panicked. But I never _really_ thought that, Kurt. Not really. Alright?”

Kurt nodded, leaning into Burt's hand for a moment, and Burt let out a deep, painful breath. He pulled Kurt close again, hugging him tightly and resting his chin on Kurt's head.

“Do you think Blaine really thought so?”

“No.” Burt huffed out a laugh, Kurt's hair tickling his nose as it moved with his breath. “Sometimes I think Blaine knows you better than I do.”

“I love him, Dad. I love him so much and I'm...I'm worried I won't be able to help him.” The soft confession broke Burt's heart. There was so much in this world that he couldn't protect his son from and it just didn't seem right. He was the father, he was supposed to be able to keep Kurt safe, even if it was from his own heart.

Burt sighed heavily, glancing back at the boy sleeping behind them. “Just keep being there for him, Kurt. I think, with time, that'll be enough.”

Soon enough Kurt had fallen asleep, finally giving in to the exhaustion the last few days had caused. Burt laid him carefully on the couch, using the blanket from the back to cover him up before going back upstairs.

The next time he went down to check on them they were both sleeping soundly on the bed, Blaine tucked into Kurt's side with Kurt's arms wrapped protectively around him. The lines of pain on Blaine's face had softened, and as he shifted closer to Kurt in his sleep Burt felt himself relax for the first time in what seemed like years.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Days passed in a surreal state, like they were all living a half-life, waiting for something to catch up and fill in the spaces. Blaine and Kurt spent most of their time downstairs, ghosts that fluttered upstairs periodically to grab food, only to return hours later with mostly full plates.

Kurt would send glances toward Burt and Carole where they sat whispering on the couch, trying to decide what to do next, but wouldn't say anything, wouldn't ask ' _What do we do now_?'.

Finn, once he was finally retrieved from the Abrams, tried to stay out of everyone's way. He had been filled in on the basics, ' _Blaine was hurt; his family is out of town, he'll be staying with us for a while; no, they're not going back to Dalton, not ever_ '.

He was confused, resentful at first, ' _Kurt wasn't hurt, why does he get to stay home_? _Why can't I_?', but one look at Blaine’s pale face, the bruises around his neck and wrists, and he had stopped complaining, just asked if there was anything he could do to help. He stayed in his room, cast suspicious looks out his door as Burt ran down the stairs every night to quite Blaine’s nightmares, but he stopped asking questions.

Carole went back to work reluctantly, she didn't have the luxury of calling in her assistant manager like Burt did, and worried every moment that she was away. She cooked and cleaned, kept the house running as smoothly as possible, as normally as possible. She smiled kindly when Blaine asked if he could please help, he didn't want to be a burden, and sent him back downstairs, assured him that he wasn't a burden at all.

Burt, for his part, tried to give the boys some space and tinkered around the house, filling the silences with the sound of busy-work. He fixed the faucet that had been leaking for weeks, installed the closet organizer he had bought Carole ages ago, and searched down the source of the whining noise Kurt's SUV had been making.

The police returned his truck, no evidence, of course; they had searched everywhere, Choi lamented over the phone, gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb and found nothing. Burt had spent hours scrubbing the seat where Blaine’s blood had soaked through. He would have to get the upholstery replaced. He couldn't stop seeing it.

Nights were broken by painful dreams, but the days fell into routine and everyone seemed to relax despite the constant feeling of _waiting_. The exhaustion held strong, spurred on by the sleepless nights, but the stiffness left Blaine’s spine, the shadows of fear and pain began to fade from his eyes.

As Blaine relaxed so did the rest of them, and it almost seemed as if there was light at the end of the tunnel.

It was Friday, five days since he had received Blaine’s desperate phone call and their world had been turned upside down, and Burt felt as close to content as he could, considering the circumstances. He was cooking dinner, Carole was working a late shift to make up for the days she had lost, and Finn had gone to Noah's for the evening to play video games, so it was just him and Kurt and Blaine.

Blaine had wandered up into the living room earlier that day, Kurt in tow, complaining that his vision was starting to revert to shades of gray from spending so much time in Kurt's monotone room. The TV had been turned on to a marathon of a show about rich women with way too much time on their hands, and the boys had immediately begun an argument about the merits of reality television. Burt would even swear that he heard a laugh coming from Blaine over Kurt's indignation that his favorite show was being insulted.

Burt had just finished putting dinner on the table and was about to call the boys in to eat - or pick at their food listlessly, their appetites hadn't returned yet - when the doorbell rang. Burt's stomach flip-flopped and he suddenly got an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was just because the last time their doorbell had rung they had received devastating news.

Kurt opened the door just as Burt was emerging from the kitchen. A man stood on the other side, tall and broad, with short curly hair slicked back to perfection. He had dark eyes that scanned the front room judiciously.

“Dad?” Blaine said from the couch, rising slowly. Kurt cast a suddenly panicked look at Burt that Burt couldn't for the life of him understand, but Blaine didn't notice it, too focused on his father who still stood squarely in the doorway.

“Dad, what are you doing here? I-I thought you weren't coming.”

Mr. Anderson's eyes narrowed at Blaine's slight stutter and he finally stepped across the threshold, not bothering to shut the door behind him. He didn't look as if he intended on staying very long.

“Well, Blaine,” he said, all condescension. “I had to, didn't I, when the Dean of your school called me and said you refused to return to your classes.”

“Dad...”

“Mr. Anderson,” Burt interjected, stepping close to the other man and offering his hand. “Burt Hummel. I'm Kurt's father. It's nice to finally meet you.”

Anderson paused for just a moment, then reached out and took Burt's hand in a strong, sure grip. His eyes flicked briefly over to where Kurt and Blaine stood tensely together; Burt wasn't sure which of the boys was the reason for the slight curling of Anderson's lip, but it made Burt want to smack the look off of his face either way.

“Thank you for putting my son up for so long. ” Anderson said, his attention leaving the boys and settling back on Burt. “I'm sorry for all the trouble he's caused.”

Burt saw Blaine flinch out of the corner of his eye. “It was no trouble at all. We _like_ having him here.”

If Anderson noticed the emphasis, he chose to ignore it. Instead, he turned back to his son, the look on his face one of barely concealed scorn. Burt wondered if he knew how transparent he was, or if everyone in his world held that same sort of cold disdain so no one cared. “Get your things, Blaine. We have just enough time to get to your school and get your assignments for Monday. You've already lost a week. I won't have you falling farther behind.”

He turned towards the door to leave, expecting his orders to be obeyed without question, but Blaine baulked. “M-my assignments? Dad, I-I can't. I can't go back there.”

Anderson shot an angry look over his shoulder and opened the door. “This isn't up for discussion, Blaine. Go get your things. We're leaving now.”

“No.”

Burt wondered if Blaine had ever told his father no before. The paleness of the boy's face made him doubt it.

Anderson turned around slowly, his face a perfectly controlled mask of fury. “Excuse me?”

Blaine seemed to wilt almost immediately under his father's gaze. “I...he's still there. The school s-said they wouldn't fire him. Mr. Hummel tried but...he's still there. I can't go back there. I-I can't.”

Blaine sounded now like he had when Burt had answered the phone five days ago; confused and scared, desperate. He looked at his father with a despairing hope, eyes begging the man in front of him to understand. But Anderson just glared, furious.

“Mr. Hummel, if you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak with my son alone.” His tone was nothing but polite, but his eyes were cold and angry.

Against his better judgment Burt nodded and took Kurt's arm, steering him through the open archway into the dining room. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Blaine alone in there with that man, but he had no choice. Blaine wasn't his son; he couldn't take him away from his own father. 

Kurt hissed a protest as Burt steered them out of the living room, but he ushered the boy into a chair at the table so that he wasn't hovering by the doorway. They could still hear the conversation in the other room, but at least they didn't look like they were eavesdropping.

“Dad, I...”

“I thought we were done with all of this, Blaine.” The tone of Anderson's voice was harsh and unforgiving. Kurt rose immediately, ready to rush to Blaine's defense, but Burt pushed him back gently into the chair. This wasn't their fight.

“Dad, I didn't...I thought...”

“No, Blaine, that's the problem. You _never_ think.”

There was a pause, long and broken, then softly, “Please don't make me go back there.”

An angry sigh. “Blaine, we sent you to public school because you wanted to be normal. When you couldn't handle it there we sent you to Dalton. There is nowhere else.”

“What am I supposed to do, Dad? Sit in his class every day and forget what he did to me? He _raped_ me! Oh, but maybe if I learn how to say 'please stop, you're hurting me' in French he might actually listen next time.”

“Enough, Blaine. You're going back and that's final.”

“No! I can't go back there! You can't make me!”

“Don't make a scene, young man.”

There was the sound of furniture being jostled and rustling clothes, then, “Let go of me. Stop it! _Let go of me_!”

The sudden broken desperation in Blaine's voice spurned Burt into action and he rushed into the living room with Kurt hot on his heels. They got there in time to see Blaine struggling to release the tight hold his father had on his wrist. When Anderson saw them he let go of his son and took a step back. He straightened his suit jacket and sent an angry glare at Blaine. He was obviously a man not used to being seen out of control and he blamed Blaine for this.

Blaine looked back and forth between his father and their sudden audience. He held his wrist protectively against his chest; the pale skin, still ringed with green and yellow bruises, was now red from his father's grasp. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. Blaine sent one last despairing look at Anderson before throwing himself at Burt.

Burt caught him with a small 'oomph' and immediately wrapped his arms around Blaine's shaking shoulders. “Don't make me go back there,” Blaine begged, hiding his face in Burt's chest, his hands clutching desperately at Burt's shirt. “Please don't make me go back there. Please.”

Burt held him tighter, one hand running soothingly up and down Blaine's trembling back. He hushed him quietly, like he used to do with Kurt after his mother's death when the grief was just too much for the small boy to bear, and carefully turned Blaine away from his father, putting his own body in between Anderson and his son. But Anderson was a shrewd man, and the slight narrowing of his eyes told Burt that the other man knew exactly what he was doing. Burt ignored him. The man could go walk himself off a cliff for all he cared; Carole was right, he didn't deserve to be called a parent.

“You're not gonna go back there, Blaine,” Burt said firmly, rocking him gently as the boy tried to get himself under control. “I promise. Do you hear me me? You're never going back there again.”

A moment passed in stifling silence, Anderson still staring coolly at the two of them from the other side of the room. The look in his eyes had gone from angry to astute and Burt didn't think he was going to like where that lead. Blaine quickly got himself calmed down and stepped awkwardly out of Burt's embrace, tucking himself into Kurt's personal space, like a child reaching for a security blanket in the dark. His red-rimmed eyes stayed rooted firmly to the floor at his feet.

Anderson made a sound behind him, a humming noise that was half laugh, half derision. Burt turned around, projecting his anger at this whole messed up situation towards the man. Lesser men had cowed beneath the full force of Burt Hummel's anger, but Anderson was too damn sure of himself, too damn aware of where he stood to even care.

“I see you've been taken in by my son's charms. You're not the first, Mr. Hummel, I assure you.” Always so damn polite. It made Burt want to punch him in the face; the rest of the situation notwithstanding. “Blaine has a way of convincing the people around him that he is...somewhat more than the reality. His charismatic smile and gentlemanly manner, his perfect grades and his charming voice, all distract from the truth. You see, Burt, my son is…”

He paused for just a moment, his eyes flicking towards Blaine where he stood stiffly beside Kurt. Burt could see the boy tense, see his shoulders hunch just slightly, preparing for what his father was going to say next.

“Well, to put it bluntly, he’s a slut.”

Anderson's words hurt like a fist to the gut and they weren't even about him. Burt heard his son gasp behind him, and beneath that a tiny, broken whimper from Blaine.

“He's also a coward and a drama queen. I assure you, this is just another bid for attention. This will all blow over and in a few weeks something else will-”

The sound of a fist hitting flesh resounded through the room, followed quickly by the sound of Anderson hitting the floor. 

Burt shook his hand carefully, wincing at the sudden ache that ricocheted up through his wrist, and was about to tell the two wide-eyed boys in the corner to go downstairs when Anderson leveled himself up from the floor, his face red with rage and the beginning of a spectacular bruise.

“I'll sue you for everything you're worth, Hummel,” he hissed, one hand rubbing at his cheek where Burt's fist had collided. “I'll have you arrested for assault!”

Burt walked over to the door as calmly as he could, swinging it open and stepping aside. “You do whatever the hell you want, Anderson. Just get out of my house. You're not welcome here anymore, and if I ever see you again a bruised eye will be the least of your worries.”

Anderson turned to face his son, all his calm composure from earlier shattered. “Blaine.”

The word was a demand, and one he obviously expected to be obeyed. But Blaine just shook his head, turning his eyes away from his father. Kurt's hand reached out and linked tightly with the one trembling at his side, a silent support.

“Fine.” Anderson straightened his suit with a few jerky movements, his eyes full of anger and scorn. “But you better hope to hell that _they_ want you, because I never want to see you again. Do you hear me, Blaine? You've made your choice, you better damn well be able to live with it.” And without a backwards glance for his son he stalked out the door.

Burt slammed it behind him with a disquieting finality.

Before he had a chance to turn around he heard running feet and Kurt shouting Blaine's name. Then the basement door was slammed closed and the lock was turned with a snap.

Kurt growled under his breath and hit his fist against the door in frustration as Blaine's footsteps disappeared down the stairs. When Burt got to the door, shaking the handle uselessly, Kurt turned and ran into the kitchen.

“Blaine,” Burt called out, shaking the door again as if it had magically unlocked in the last three seconds. He didn't get an answer, but he hadn't been expecting one. He tried not to panic at the thought of what Blaine's head was going through right now.

“Kurt, what are you doing?” Burt shouted into the kitchen at the sound of rattling dishes and slamming cupboards.

“I'm looking for the spare key you made and thought I didn't know about!” Kurt yelled back, emerging from the kitchen with it in his hand. Kurt gave Burt a 'look', but Burt refused to feel guilty. He had watched too many news reports about kids like Kurt and what could happen to them; he wasn't going to risk getting locked out when Kurt needed him most.

Kurt used the key to unlock the door and they both headed down the stairs cautiously.

Blaine was pacing restlessly around Kurt's room, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He was muttering under his breath and his face was twisting through so many different emotions Burt couldn't keep up with them all.

“Blaine?” he asked softly, stepping around Kurt who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs, completely unsure as to what to do for his friend.

“Blaine, are you alright?” It was a stupid question, Burt knew that before he even asked. Blaine was about as far from alright as he could get, but Burt didn't really know what to do here. This situation was beyond anything he could imagine. How does a man just abandon his child? The very thought made him sick.

“I'm fine,” Blaine replied, still pacing back and forth, as if he stopped moving the floor would fall out from beneath his feet. But his voice betrayed him, broken and wavering, unable to hide the years long sorrow that Blaine had suffered because of his father.

“I'm fine,” he repeated. “It's okay. If he doesn't want me, that's fine. I don't- I don't need him. Everything I've ever done, I've done without him. I got straight A's without him, every sport I ever did was without him, every performance I've ever had was without him there watching. I don't need him.”

Blaine's tone became more and more anxious with every word, his pace across the floor quicker and less controlled. Burt glanced down at Blaine's arms and saw him digging his fingernails into skin, drawing angry red lines across both forearms.

When Burt moved forward to try and stop him, to still his frantic pacing and pull his hands away before he did any damage Blaine flinched, jerking away from his touch like he had with Grant in the Dean's office on Monday.

“I'm fine,” Blaine insisted, backing even farther away from Burt. His back collided with the table by the stairs, rattling the candles and books on top.

“I don't need him. I _don't_. I've never needed him. If he doesn't want me that's fine, because I don't-I don't want him either. I don't want him.”

“Blaine...” The boy's voice had turned frantic, desperate, as if he were trying to convince himself of the words that he kept repeating. Burt wanted to move toward him again, to pull him into a hug or just ground him back to the reality he seemed to be losing, but Blaine's eyes were wide, wild, and Burt wasn't sure how he would react if he felt like he was being cornered.

Kurt stood silently at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the railing tight and tears filling his eyes.

“I don't. I don't want him. I don't care if he doesn't want me, because I don't want him either. _I don't want him_!”

The sudden shout caused Burt and Kurt to both jump, startled by the desperate anger in Blaine's voice. And then suddenly Burt was ducking, trying to avoid getting hit by the candle that went screaming by his head. Another followed, and then another, not thrown _at_ him, just thrown, all of Blaine's anger and pain lashing out at the inanimate objects around him.

“I don't want him!” Blaine shouted again, hands wrapping around anything he could reach, launching them in every direction. “I don't want him!”

Burt wasn't sure if Blaine even realized what he was doing. The boy was shaking, tears suddenly streaking down his cheeks, and as the candles shattered on the walls and the books fell in crumpled heaps to the floor he started screaming.

“I hate him! I hate him! I don't care if he doesn’t want me! _I hate him_!” 

A lamp went crashing to the floor when Blaine swept his hands across the table and the contents of a jewelry box were scattered at Kurt's feet where he still stood, paralyzed, on the stairs.

When there were no more things left to throw Blaine turned around and started kicking at the table and the mess on the floor, and all the while he was screaming his mantra over and over, _I hate him I hate him I hate him_ , as if he said it enough he could convince himself that he _did_ hate his father, that his final abandonment hadn't been devastating beyond belief.

When his hand collided with the mirror on the wall, shattering it into tiny pieces that rained down onto the table top Burt finally moved to intervene. He grabbed Blaine's hand as the boy reached out toward the glass shards, pulling him away from the disaster he had made.

Blaine let out a wordless scream of anger, furious at being touched, restrained, and his balled up fists lashed out at the closest thing to him. Burt took the brunt of his wrath, blocking his flying fists as best he could while trying to get a hold of the frantic, struggling boy.

He finally managed to wrap his arms around Blaine's shoulders, grunting as one of his fists landed a blow to his ribs before he could pin them down. Blaine struggled, pushing at Burt's chest frantically for a moment, then he gave one last pathetic effort to lash out before simply deflating, his body going limp against Burt as he started to sob.

Blaine's sudden weight was too much and Burt sunk slowly to the floor, cradling the boy tightly to his chest.

“ _Why_?” Blaine moaned against Burt's shoulder, his back shaking under Burt's hands. “Why doesn't anyone believe me? What did I do?”

Burt didn't know how to answer him, didn't know what words he could possibly offer that would do any good. He pulled Blaine closer, tucking him into his chest tightly, and looked over his head to where Kurt sat at the bottom of the stairs. He had one hand wrapped tightly around the banister, holding on as if he would blow away if he let go, and the other was covering his trembling mouth, tears tracking down his cheeks and sliding between his fingers.

They sat there like that for what seemed like hours, Burt trying to offer the comfort that Blaine's father should have given and Kurt watching wide-eyed from the stairs, until the crying finally stopped and Blaine fell into a fitful sleep.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

“Well, can't he just get excommunicated?”

All eyes turned toward Finn, and he shrugged under their scrutiny, turning back to his dinner plate. They had been talking about what to do next, how they would proceed now that it looked like Blaine’s stay with them would be running indefinitely. There was no question as to whether or not he _would_ be staying.

But Burt knew that they had no legal standing when it came to Blaine. If he didn't return to school soon he could be considered a run away; not that his family would care. The only way Burt could see Anderson reporting his son to the police was out of spite.

“Honey, no,” Carole said gently, patting Finn's hand.

Finn gave her a petulant glare. “Yeah, you know, like when kids divorce their parents. Ex...it's an 'ex' something. I think.”

“You mean 'emancipated'?” Blaine asked. He was pushing his food around his plate again, ignoring the furtive looks of concern that Carole and Kurt kept sending him. Whatever small amount of progress he had been making in the days after their encounter with Grant had been completely shattered with his father's hateful departure.

The shadows under his eyes had returned, and even Burt could tell that the boy was losing weight he could ill afford. The nightmares he had every night were violent and heartbreaking, his subconscious mind trying to force him to remember things he didn't want to. He wouldn't speak about the things he saw in his dreams, but the weight of them was beginning to wear him down.

“Yeah, that,” Finn said, grabbing another helping from the table. “If you do that you could make all of your own decisions, right? You could choose which school you wanted to go to.”

Blaine shook his head slowly and turned his eyes back to his plate. “It would take months. You can't just...it's not just like signing papers. You have to prove you can take care of yourself, that you're capable of living on your own. They assign you a case worker and...it would take too long. The school year would be over by then. I'd have to start all over next year, and...”

Blaine’s breath came out in a shaky sigh and his eyes closed briefly. When he opened them again they were shining wetly.

“Boys, why don't you go finish eating in the living room. Let me and Burt talk for a minute,” Carole said softly, concern and sorrow drawing lines at the corners of her eyes. 

When the boys had gone Burt sighed and took off his hat, running his hand across his scalp in frustration.

“Maybe his parents-”

Burt stood up abruptly from the kitchen table, moving to stand in front of the sink. He looked out of the small window into the darkness that shrouded the back yard. “His parents,” he growled. “Are halfway around the world and don't give a damn about him.”

He heard Carole sigh heavily and he felt guilty about snapping at her. She was his ally in this, the only other person who seemed to care.

“I'm just saying,” she said softly, moving to stand behind him. Burt leaned back into her embrace when she wrapped her arms around his chest. “Maybe if we can get them on the phone they'd talk to us. All we'd need is for them to sign the papers to let him transfer. They wouldn't have to do anything else. We could take care of the rest.”

“Transfer _where_?” Burt asked.

And wasn't that the million dollar question? If Blaine couldn't go back to Dalton where could he go? The school he had fled because of bullying, or the school Kurt had left for the same reason? Was there nowhere that was safe for them?

“Besides, Carole, you didn't see his father,” Burt said, turning to face her and pulling her close. “He was furious. I'm pretty sure he meant it when he said he never wanted to see Blaine again. I can't...I just don't get it.”

“Maybe his mother...”

Burt sighed heavily and pulled out of Carole's embrace, moving to the table to start cleaning, to have something to do to distract himself. He remembered a brief conversation he had had with Kurt, the day they had gone to Dalton.

Blaine had limped his way inside from the car, forcing back a grimace of pain as he had brought his laundry inside and sat down at the kitchen table. Burt had asked if he had taken his pain medication that day and Blaine had claimed his didn't need it. When Burt pushed the subject Blaine had snapped, shouting that he didn't want to take the pills.

His face had gone pale and he had apologized before quickly retreating downstairs. Kurt had walked over to where Burt stood, stunned, and sighed. “His mother's addicted to them,” he had confessed, his voice filled with sorrow as he stared at the closed basement door. “That's why he doesn't want them. He flushed them all down the toilet last night.”

So no, Burt didn't think they would be getting much help from Blaine’s mother.

Before either of them could say anything more on the subject the doorbell rang and they both froze. For a minute there was no movement in the house at all. No one went to answer the door, it almost seemed as if they were barely breathing at all.

When the bell rang again a minute later Burt swore under his breath and stalked over to the door, passing the three wide-eyed boys in the living room as he went. “Gonna dismantle the damn thing,” he growled as he yanked the door open.

On the other side was a man he didn't know; average height with a fit build, dark skin touched with laugh lines and a perfectly shaved head. His face looked kind, but the expensive suit and leather brief case he carried immediately put Burt on edge. They spoke of money and connections, of the power to affect lives.

It amazed him how easy it had become to start distrusting people.

“Victor?”

Blaine’s voice drew Burt's attention back to the living room briefly. Blaine was standing up, the look on his face confused and wary. Burt was prepared to slam the door in the man's face at the slightest provocation, but Blaine walked over to the door and placed a hand on Burt's arm.

“It's okay,” he said quietly, watching the man that still stood patiently on the other side of the door. “Mr. Hummel, this is Victor Grayson, my dad's lawyer.”

“Lawyer!?”

The shout came up from Kurt, Carole, and Finn all at once, a mixture of confusion and sudden fear. Victor chuckled softly and held up both hands in a placating manner. “I'm not here to sue you,” he assured them, ushering Blaine back a few steps so that he could come inside and shut the door.

Blaine retreated to the couch with Finn and Kurt, while Burt moved to stand beside Carole who still had one hand over her heart, worry creasing her brow. Burt pulled her into a quick hug, kissing the side of her head softly as Victor sat down on the recliner.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, glancing quickly around the little group of people. “I convinced Micheal not to sue you, or to press charges. He may be brash and stubborn as an ass, but he's not stupid. There would be no point. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that's the least of our problems right now.”

Victor turned to Blaine, the look on his face one of regret. “Blaine, you know how your father is.”

Blaine’s soft sigh and the way his shoulder's dropped, his whole body just deflating, was heartbreaking.

“He's going to disown me,” he said quietly, all life gone from his voice.

“Well, he can't actually do that until you're eighteen. But he can release custody of you to the state. It's...not usually done in Ohio, though you can in other states, but your father has enough connections that he can make it happen.”

“To the state?! Dad!” Kurt's voice was high and panicked; he clutched at Blaine’s hand as if he could keep him there, keep him safe, by sheer force of will. 

“Kurt, calm down, alright?” Burt said softly, trying to placate, trying to keep control of the situation. They had all had so little control this last week and a half. But this...this was easy. It almost worried him, how easy the decision was. “Why don't you guys go-”

“No.” Blaine said, in that muted, lifeless voice that had replaced all the courage and determination. But he wasn't scared to say it like he had been with his father, didn't fear the retribution for standing up for himself, and that was something. “Please. This is about my future,” he said. “I need...I want to know.”

Burt nodded and turned back to the man sitting calmly across the room, feeling things settle into place, like this is where they had been heading all along. And Burt thinks maybe they have been, ever since he accidentally answered that phone call. Ever since he had heard Blaine whisper, _can you come get me?_.

“I assume you have another option,” he asked the lawyer, and he felt Carole's hand tighten on his shoulder, always that strong support.

Victor opened his briefcase and pulled out a small stack of papers. “I won't repeat precisely what he said, but Michael implied that you and your family may be willing to...take Blaine in, at least through the duration of his school years.

“I took the liberty of drawing up the paperwork to transfer guardianship to yourself. If you and Mrs. Hummel are willing to take on that responsibility...”

He held the papers out toward Burt, looking at him expectantly. Burt took them without question, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone in the room settle on him.

“If the two of you sign those papers and take over Blaine’s guardianship you would be responsible for making decisions on things like medical care and education, as well as providing for him financially and if any legal problems were to arise between now and when he turns eighteen in October.”

The lawyer's tone was clinical and concise, just giving them the facts. As if this decision boiled down to nothing more than clothing Blaine and choosing where he went to school. Burt would have been angry at the coldness of his statement, but he could see, in the softness of the man's eyes and the way he spoke of Blaine’s father with such derision, that he was on Blaine’s side.

Just another person that couldn't do a damn thing to about it.

Burt looked over at Blaine, who had taken to staring at his bare feet, one hand still clasped tightly in Kurt's, a deep furrow between his eyes. “Blaine,” he said gently, drawing the boy's attention away from the floor. “Is this what you want?”

He didn't voice what they were all thinking, that Blaine had no other choice; that it was them or some Boy's home where he would stay until he turned eighteen, then get kicked out with nowhere to go. But the least Burt could do was give him a choice, let him take a little control over his own life.

Blaine looked up at him, sorrowful eyes dry after so many days of crying. “I...” He looked at Kurt, at Carole and Finn and the lawyer, then said, quiet but sure, “Yes. Yes, I want to stay here.”

Burt nodded, took the pen that Victor offered and signed the small stack of papers where he indicated, then passed it to Carole to do the same. He saw Blaine slide down the couch just slightly, enough to rest his head on Kurt's shoulder, Kurt turning into him and gripping his hand a little tighter as he did. When it was done Victor tucked the papers back into his briefcase, closing it with a soft snap, the course of Blaine’s future changed irrevocably in a matter of minutes.

“Your father agreed to let you get your things,” Victor said. “He's keeping your car, but you can get all of your personal belongings. It would probably be best if you went sometime this week. He'll be in Japan until next Tuesday.”

“And my mother?” Blaine asked, his eyes turning to look at him, but he didn't move from where he was resting on Kurt's shoulder. “What did she have to say? Does she even know...what happened?”

Victor sighed heavily, but didn't turn away from Blaine’s empty stare. “You know your mother, Blaine. As long as your father pays her credit card bills, she doesn't care what he does.”

“Wonderful.”

Carole's hand slipped down from Burt's shoulder to grip tightly at his own, her fingers squeezing painfully in an effort to keep from saying anything, from lashing out at the woman who wasn't here, who didn't care enough about her own child to fight for him. Burt pulled her close, his eyes glancing over at Kurt and Finn and couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't do for them. To protect them.

“There is one more thing I need to discuss with you, Blaine,” Victor said, the look on his face turning less dour, an almost smile on his lips. “It's about your trust fund.”

“Trust fund?” Blaine’s head lifted a little at that, the look on his face one of confusion.

“Yes. The one your grandfather set up for you when you were born to ensure that you would be able to go to a good college, no matter what. The one your father can't touch.”

Blaine’s eyes brightened just a little and for the first time in days Burt saw a flash of hope across his face.

“It's not going to set you up for life, but it will be enough to get you through any college you may choose to go to.” Victor reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to Blaine who took it with a tentative grasp. “I know you've got a ways to go, yet. But keep your grades up, it's not going to be as easy now that you won't graduate from Dalton, and contact me when you decide where you're going. Or for whatever reason, alright?”

Blaine nodded, curling his fingers around the small white card, and with that Victor left, leaving them alone, a newly reformed family.

No one said anything for a while, everyone trying to gather their thoughts, to wrap their minds around what had just happened. Burt moved to sit in the chair that Victor had left empty, Blaine curled farther into Kurt's side, and Carole moved to clear the boys' forgotten plates away.

Finally Burt spoke, needing to break the tension, needing to let everyone know that this, whatever this was, was okay. That everything was going to be alright.

“Well, things are going to be a little different around here,” he started, looking over the three boys on the couch. Blaine’s face blanched and he immediately sat up, turning to Burt, the look on his face earnest.

“Mr. Hummel, I want you to know that I'll do whatever it takes to help out. I-I'll get a job, and help pay my own way. I'll-”

“Blaine,” Burt said gently, cutting off Blaine’s frantic promises. Blaine’s mouth snapped shut and bit down on his lips, as if to hold back all the things he wanted to say. “I'm gonna tell you the same thing I've told Kurt and Finn. Your job is to go to school and do the absolute best you can, so that when you graduate you have the best opportunities that are out there. That, and a few chores around the house, are all you need to worry about. Everything else, you leave that up to me and Carole. Alright?”

Blaine nodded soberly, but his face was still unsure. They'd work on that. “There is one major change that's going to have to be made, though,” Burt continued, his face solemn. “And Kurt, it's going to affect you the most.”

Carole had come back into the room and was standing behind him, one hand rubbing gently at his shoulders.

“You know I don't mind sharing my room,” Kurt said earnestly, glancing over at Blaine.

“I know. And we'll get Blaine his own bed just as soon as we can, now that he'll be staying long-term. But that's not what I'm talking about.”

The looks of confusion on all their faces was almost too much. Burt mustered up his most serious face, looking at Kurt squarely, watching Blaine out of the corner of his eye. “Kurt...” he said solemnly. “I'm afraid you're going to have to give up part of your clothing budget to pay for Blaine’s hair products.”

It took everyone just a second to register what he had said. Then, “Oh my god, dad, _seriously_?”

Finn sniggered and Carole shook her head in exasperation, Kurt gave an eye-roll of epic proportions. But the small smile that Blaine sent him, as Kurt grabbed his hand and dragged him down to the basement, was all Burt had hoped for.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The house they pulled up to was massive. Stone and glass and all perfectly sharp, clean lines. It looked intimidating. It didn't look at all like a home. The driveway was long, winding up to a circular path that led to the front door. Before the truck even stopped the three people inside could see the boxes sitting on the front porch, waiting to be picked up.

A man stood beside the boxes, dressed impeccably in a black suit and tie. He was older, in his late sixties at least, and he had a soft, sad smile on his face as they pulled up. 

“Master Blaine,” the man greeted as they piled out of the cab of the truck. His words were formal but his tone was kind and sincere. Blaine moved to stand with him while Burt and Kurt started packing the boxes into the back with all their things from Dalton.

“Hello, Gregory. He didn't even want me coming inside to pack, huh?” Blaine asked with a forced, derisive laugh.

“This was my decision, Master Blaine,” Gregory said gently. He reached out toward Blaine, then seemed to think better of it, because he folded his hands carefully behind his back instead. “I thought it would be easier on you.”

Blaine nodded, glancing at the truck that was quickly being packed with all the things he owned. He didn't look at the house, this place he had grown up, that he had spent his life in before Dalton. The place where he had been alone, no friends, his family gone; just him wandering the halls, like a ghost searching for the afterlife.

He hated this place and it's straight, clinical lines. The designer furniture that no one used and the perfectly matched artwork that no one ever looked at, not even him. He wasn't going to miss this place. He wondered, briefly, if he should feel guilty about that.

“Is my mother...”

“She's been in New York since last Friday. I'm afraid all the... _excitement_ was too much for her.”

Blaine nodded again, biting at his lip. He crossed his arms in front of himself, felt his fingers dig into his arms, the bite of fingernails in flesh. He glanced up at the truck and saw Burt watching him, saw his eyes travel down to where his hands were wrapped around his arms. He let go.

Gregory turned towards him as the last box was loaded, his expression gentle, sad. Blaine wanted to tell him not to be, but he didn't think that was the right response, so he didn't say anything.

“I should also inform you, Master Blaine,” Gregory said, his tone ever polite but without the coldness Michael Anderson always possessed. It was that voice he had always sought out as a child, when he scraped his knee or was scared by the shadows in the dark. His father would have told him to stop whining, his mother, if she was even paying attention, would tell him to find his father.

“That this will be my last act in service to your family.” Blaine’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open in surprise at Gregory's words. “I've tendered my resignation, and I'm thinking of retiring. Perhaps doing a little traveling.”

“But...you've been here for twenty years.” The thought of this house, without Gregory in it, was something Blaine could hardly comprehend. He always knew _he_ would leave, would run to college just as soon as he could and never look back, but Gregory was a constant. A fixed point. He was _supposed_ to be here.

“Yes. Yes, I have,” Gregory said, his eyes traveling across the broad brown doors, the vast lawn that has never been played on. “I remember the day your parents brought you home from the hospital. Your father rushed off to his office as soon as he walked through the door, and your mother immediately handed you to me.

“I didn't know what to do with you. I had very little experience with children, having never had any of my own. But when you began to fuss and I stroked your cheek to calm you, you reached out and wrapped your tiny fist around my finger. You were so strong and sure, even then.”

Gregory turned to face him, and Blaine felt his throat tighten, his eyes begin that hated burn. “I know you lose your confidence sometimes, Master Blaine, and I understand. I truly do. But I knew that the child I held in my arms that day would do good things someday. Something far better than your father ever did. And I still believe that of you now.”

Blaine’s eyes filled with tears and he tried to force them away, closing them briefly to regain his control. He wasn't going to cry any more. He had cried enough in his life.

“I'm going to miss you, Gregory,” he said, his voice strained.

Gregory's shoulders slipped from their perfectly poised posture and he reached out carefully, placing one unsteady hand on Blaine’s shoulder. When Blaine leaned into his touch he pulled him into a fierce hug, and the two of them just stood there for a moment, holding on tightly to each other.

Blaine eventually pulled back with a soft laugh, sniffing in embarrassment. Gregory pulled a white handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it to Blaine, discreetly dabbing at his own moist eyes as Blaine dried his face.

“This is the age of communication, Master Blaine,” Gregory said with a wink. “I believe you set me up with something called a Face Book several months ago so that I could keep in touch with my sister in Switzerland. I do think it will be just as useful in keeping tabs on you. We'll speak to each other again.”

Blaine smiled and nodded, handing the handkerchief back. “Just...if you write on my wall, please don't call me 'Master Blaine'. I'd never hear the end of it.”

Gregory laughed and drew Blaine in for another short hug. “I shall try to refrain.”

***

After goodbyes had been said and the boys were back in the truck Burt looked at Gregory, this man who had been more like a father to Blaine than Michael Anderson had ever been, over the roof from the driver's side. They held each other's gaze for a minute, passing unspoken words between them that few people would be able to understand. Then Burt nodded firmly, a silent promise, and slid into the truck beside Kurt.

As they drove away from the mansion, Gregory watching until they turned out of sight, Burt took in a deep breath. He looked over at the two boys, Kurt smiling softly and Blaine leaning into his shoulder. They had a long road ahead of them, there was no denying that. But they were alive and safe, and that was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in the Blaine Hummel 'Verse. I named it that for a friend. There is no official name-changing that occurs. There is a sequel to this, and two short stories that accompany it. They will all be posted shortly.


End file.
